


Fire in the Rain

by Vixiviolet17



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-01-08 01:18:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vixiviolet17/pseuds/Vixiviolet17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young woman appears in London who may hold the key to a long buried Holmes family secret. Before Mycroft can act, Sherlock finds her first. A chain of events are set into motion that will alter the lives of not only the Holmes brothers, but John Watson and Gregory Lestrade as well. DI Lestrade/OC, Sherlock/John, Mycroft.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Her

“Sir? Anthea’s brisk voice floated into the room, breaking Mycroft’s train of thought. He sat back in his desk chair and looked at her quizzically.  
“I left orders that I was not to be disturbed.” Mycroft rubbed a hand over his forehead, and hoped to god that this interruption was not regarding his younger brother, as most unexpected news tended to be.

Anthea’s voice was flat and efficient, not intimidated by her high office boss at all. “Yes, but this is regarding an earlier matter that you mentioned would take precedent over ordinary affairs.”

Mycroft groaned inwardly, that sounded exactly like a Sherlock problem. He checked his pocket watch and silently prayed that this would not involve needing to bail out his impudent younger sibling from yet another detention center. He hadn’t had the problem lately due to Sherlock’s friendship with a certain D.I. at Scotland yard, but Mycroft still never assumed anything when it came to his brother’s ability to get himself (and often others) into trouble.

Mycroft sighed and then looked up at his assistant with a nod. Anthea was holding a thick manila folder, no emotion on her face, just a professional smile, it was one of the things Mycroft liked best about her. Other assistants hadn’t lasted long in his employ when he’d grown irritated with their personal problems that they couldn’t seem to leave in their homes. Anthea however was an exception, in fact she was so even tempered and efficient that he had no idea what her life consisted of outside of the offices.

“What’s Sherlock done now?” He leaned back further in his chair, taking in the slight smirk that graced over his assistants face.

She handed the file over the desktop before she spoke. “It’s not him this time, Sir.”  
Mycroft quirked an eyebrow as she handed him the file. “Then for heaven’s sake, what was so important?”

“It’s her.”

Mycroft fell back into his chair with a uncharacteristic flop, his eyes wide as he stared at the innocent looking file. Anthea’s smile widened just a fraction as she took in the shocked expression that her boss seldom ever wore and though her own curiosity flared she forced herself not to show it.

“They’ve found her, Sir.”  
Mycroft paused for a moment, before opening the folder with a slight tremble in his hand. He stared down at the documents, but when he saw the corner of a photograph below he yanked it out impatiently. It was a still from one of their CC cameras, she was here in London? It waszoomed in on a figure in black coat walking out of Heathrow….. a figure with long dark curls that spilled over her coat collar.  
“Oh for God’s sake…..” Mycroft murmured under his breath as he scrutinized every detail of that face…a face he was unsure even existed until now.

“Sir?” Anthea’s voice interrupted his study and he looked up, slightly irritated. “Would you like any action taken regarding this?”

Mycroft lifted the photo again, staring hard at it as he answered.  
“Yes...top priority surveillance immediately.”  
Anthea nodded and turned on her heel, walking silently from the room to relay the message to their operatives.

Mycroft let out a heavy sigh, still staring at the photograph intently, his next words spoken into the silence of his empty office.

“We cannot lose her again.”

 

********************************

 

Charlotte trudged through the darkening London rain, juggling her umbrella and her duffel as best she could. The water came down hard, splashing up from the ground so that her shoes squelched with every step. The cold and wet had caused her to start shivering but she plodded on, looking over her shoulder every few feet. After some time she still did not see or sense anyone following her and slowed her walk.

Despite the awful weather and oncoming night, Charlotte still found that she liked London. The different climate, and city bustle all seemed to appeal to her. This was the first time she’d tried to flee over an ocean. Her incessant travels had carried her around both Americas over the last 10 years but strangely she’d never thought to jump the oceans to escape her pursuers. Perhaps it had been the initial fear that she’d never be able to obtain a passport unnoticed, or that the increased security in the American airports would cause her to be detained and found too quickly. But desperation caused equal measures and the last encounter she’d had with the agents had forced her hand.

Charlotte shivered as the memory flashed through her mind, her hand instinctively going to her throat to feel for the thin silver scar that would never let her forget that night. She kept it hidden under a scarf and the collar of her coat, but her fingers found it easily just the same. At the feel of the puckered line Charlotte instantly recalled the cold metal blade that the agent had held to the her throat as he demanded she tell him how she did it, she still could smell the stink of sweat and cologne that had radiated off him as he clutched at her, not listening to the shouts of his superior that he was not to damage her, she was to be apprehended alive at all costs…. But the man’s eyes had been wild with desperation and he’d pressed the blade inward anyway hissing his threat into her ear.

“What good is it to you now? It won’t save you, freak.”

A rumbling boom of thunder startled her from her reverie and she muttered a few curses as the rain thickened into a near blanket. She ducked under the awning of a tiny café and let her umbrella drop for a bit as she started at the nearly dark street. The lamps were on now and cars lazily drove by through the storm. Charlotte leaned back against the white brick and tipped the thick hood of her black wool coat back slightly, shaking the water from it. As she looked up, a black cab slowed to a stop on the other side of the street, and tall figure in a long dark coat leapt out of it. Her blood chilled instantly, they’d found her.

“No….not this fast…” Charlotte hissed under her breath, yanking her hood up to hide her face and fumbling with her umbrella quickly. Her skin prickled and she prepared to run as the man began striding across the street toward her, his head down.

Charlotte fumbled with the umbrella then swore, dropping the infernal thing and attempting to run. She heard a vague shout from the man as her sopping sneakers slapped against the sidewalk, right into a large pool of water from the awning runoff. The concrete rushed up to meet her and she felt a bloom of pain across her temple as she hit. Blackness swamped her vision before she could get up…normally she would have been searching her attackers mind for anything she could use. But the hit she’d taken was claiming her consciousness too quickly.

A deep baritone rumbled through her last moment before she blacked out.

“And here I thought I was going to be bored.”


	2. Spark

 

 

Mycroft sat at his computer in the office, watching screens of surveillance footage closely. His building was quiet, not empty of course, as various agents and officials kept ungodly hours depending on their activities. But his section on the building was near empty at this time of night, many of his colleagues having left to attend to their families or whatever lives they led outside the posh walls. Mycroft envied them on rare occasions when the idea of returning to his richly decorated, yet still chilly home became unpleasant. But he’d always come to his senses, reminding himself of the statement he clung to in most of his personal life….that ‘caring’ was not an advantage. He’d lectured Sherlock on that fact last Christmas, when they’d thought that Adler woman dead, the first time.

            Mycroft had believed his words then, as he’d watched his younger sibling hide the small flicker of human emotion that he’d allowed to creep up on him. He’d even offered the forbidden fruit of a nicotine fix to derail whatever tangent Sherlock’s heart may have taken from its usual path of numbness. The truth had been that Mycroft had not wanted to lose the one person who understood his cold façade, despite their rivalry and bitter word battles Mycroft was often comforted that at least if he was an anomaly in the human race when it came to sentimental matters, he was not alone in his plight, that it was a family trait as it were.

            But speaking of caring about something, Mycroft feared slightly what this whole scenario might evoke in him, or his younger sibling if he sorted it all out. He’d ordered the extra surveillance, but the girl had appeared to slip through his web once she’d left the airport, there had been too long a lag between her photo on his desk and his order to watch.  The day had passed and he’d yet to receive a hit on her face or any of the names/aliases he’d been told she used. He’d eventually taken matters into his own hands, which led him to the now, and explained why the older man was spending his late evening hours pouring over camera screens on his computer.

 

 Finally he found what he was looking for. A street corner camera was quickly zoomed in on the figure walking through the pouring rain. He leaned forward as he watched her weave her way around the town, seemingly without direction. He noted as she turned onto a familiar street, switching to cameras that had been recently added to the area.

            “Oh for heaven’s sake….” He muttered a few choice expletives at the end of the sentence under his breath as he watched her stop under the café awning.

            Mycroft didn’t hide his annoyance at her location, and how on earth she ended up _there_ of all of London to choose from, did she know?  He’d been given no indication in the file or the reports that she had any idea….”But, then why **_there?”_**

            He zoomed in on the camera, watching as she let the umbrella fall to her feet for a moment, and the unwieldy large duffel she’d been dragging as well. As he was alone in his office he allowed himself the luxury of drinking in the pale features that stared out at the street. She was completely unaware of being watched and his mouth pulled up at the corners when she shoved the large hood of her coat back to reveal a damp mane of dark curls. He wished at this angle he could get a better look at her eyes, but the camera’s vision was already limited by the bad weather.

            His small smile was instantly lost as her expression suddenly became one of terror and he noted the cab slowing on the other side of the street.  He straightened in his chair in alarm as he watched her grab her bag and the umbrella once more, struggling with the cheap device for a moment in panic. He barely noticed the white knuckled grip on his chair arm as he watched her sprint from the man that approached her.

 

            “Damn it all to hell!” Mycroft swore loudly as he watched her tumble forward, and fought the urge to jump up from his chair, as if he had any power to watch the scene unfolding in front of him. The strong jolt of his reaction but shocked and startled him, but he had no time to ponder that as he leaned closer to the screen, peering at the figure that rushed forward, the one that she had been so afraid of.

 

He paused the frame as the figure reached her stilling form on the ground. He reached into his pocket for his cell, preparing to have to text for any available security operatives in the area to assist. He knew she’d been chased for some time overseas, but he was not about to lose her to them now that he’d finally found her.

 

But then the figure crouched before her and turned his face so the camera could see him clearly and Mycroft flopped back against his chair for the second time that day,  only this time in exasperated relief.

 

“I should have known you’d find each other first.”

 

*****************************************************************************************************

 

 

            Greg Lestrade let out a long sigh, the breath rustling some of the reports on his desk as he leaned back away from his work.  It was the first time he’d looked up in over an hour and he wasn’t surprised to see the hallway outside his office window was now dark. He’d been the one to close the place lately, aside from the cleaning crew. It hadn’t been intentional at first, as he’d started by telling himself that he really needed to pay more attention to the reports that kept piling up.

            But it had been a few weeks now and his officers no longer even bothered to check in on him before leaving for the night, or turning off the lights in the main areas. And truth be told, Greg was glad that they’d stopped inquiring as to why he never seemed to want to go home to his flat. Donovan and Anderson had meant well enough, inviting him out for dinner or drinks (albeit usually when Anderson’s wife was out of town), Greg chuckled slightly at the memory that thought invoked.  It had been the day when he’d met John Watson for the first time, limping along behind Sherlock at that pink woman’s crime scene. After Sherlock’s initial deduction, and Watson’s confusion, Sherlock had vanished off into the night…leaving Watson to hitch a cab, Greg to try to make sense of the mess, and Donovan and Anderson having an all out verbal brawl downstairs over their relationship.

           

            Greg wiped a hand over his face and began to tidy up his desk as he glanced at the clock, it was getting pretty damn late and he’d stalled as much as he could for the evening. It wasn’t that he was a glutton for punishment, more than it was that he disliked trudging home to the cold dark flat that he’d moved a few months ago, right after Corinne had given him the divorce papers. The thought alone twisted the ache in his chest slightly and Greg stretched in the chair before standing and reaching for his coat.

            He moved out of his office and turned off the light, moving through the rest of the building in semi darkness. He knew these hallways by heart, able to maneuver around desks and corners without thinking. Instead his thoughts flicked over how he’d been in such denial over the state of his marriage over the last few years. He’d blocked it out whenever Sherlock had deduced the evidence of Corinne’s many affairs, not wanting to hear despite the fact that even he himself had known somewhere deep down that the spoiled blond would never have been satisfied with being a copper’s wife. He wasn’t sure why she’d said yes to him in the first place, except for that they’d both been quite young and she’d wanted away from her folks quite badly. It didn’t matter now as she had signed the papers happily, then announced that she was moving out and in with her current lover, the one Sherlock had announced at the Christmas get together last year…the damn athletic teacher.

 

            Greg paused at the doors to the street, looking out at the rain that had been falling all day and showed no signs of stopping. He pulled the coat tighter around himself before venturing out, and jogging for his car in the lot round the back. It was fruitless, as by the time he sat in the drivers’ seat, his hair and coat were quite damp. He fumbled for his keys to turn on the car’s heater, hoping to chase away the cold. But as he pictured the dark empty flat he would come home to, the chill burrowed deeper into his bones and let out a broken sigh that rattled through his chest.

            He was so lonely that he’d give almost anything just to escape the feeling for one night even.  As if some unseen force had heard his silent plea, his mobile buzzed impatiently in his pocket.

            Pulling it out, the small screen held a text alert from a blocked number.

 

            **_Your assistance may be required tomorrow._**

**_Further instructions will be forthcoming._ **

**_-MH_ **

 

 *****************************************************************************************************

 

            John Watson filled his mug and turned away from the counter, blowing slightly on the hot liquid as he heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. Sherlock had been at Bart’s all afternoon, terrorizing Molly no doubt. John smirked to himself as he pictured it in his mind, _poor Molly_ , but then again she’d brought it on herself by letting him know she had a fresh batch of corpses for him to experiment on. The girl seemed to be a glutton for Sherlock’s verbal punishment and John often thought she had the tolerance of a saint.           

            He peered out into the living room as the door was kicked open rather more forcefully than usual and nearly dropped the mug to the floor at what he saw.  Sherlock Holmes maneuvered through the doorway, carrying the limp form of a woman in his arms. At least it appeared to be a woman from John’s first glance, what with the dark curls he glimpsed spilling out from a coat hood.

 

            “Sherlock? Have you gone insane?” John sputtered, setting his mug down on the tabletop and advancing toward where his flatmate stood, still holding the girl in his arms as her wet clothes dripped onto the floor. “Who the hell is that?”

            “No, and I don’t know.” Sherlock didn’t offer anymore explanation as he moved to settle the woman on the sofa.

            “All right then, well I assume either a date or a client…” John gestured at the girl. “But you don’t do _dates,_ and she’s bloody unconscious!” John huffed in exasperation as his medical instincts took over and he bent over the girl to check her over.

            “Keen observation John.” Sherlock grumbled, moving away to divest himself of his wet coat and scarf. His sharp gaze watched carefully as John gently moved the hood of the woman’s jacket away from her face and hissed slightly as he saw the bump that was rapidly forming on the side of her head.

            “Damn.” John muttered as he checked the girls’ pulse, then jumped back to stride toward the kitchen. “Unconscious, bad knock on the head ...She might have a concussion Sherlock! You better start talking, right now!”

            Sherlock heard the sound of John grabbing ice from the freezer and stepped closer to peer down into the pale face of the girl who had literally just landed on their doorstep.  His mind immediately began observing and cataloging all the details of her. Her clothes and shoes were soaked, she’d out in the rain most of the day then… her skin was quite pale, much like his own, the duffel bag she’d been carrying that he’d left downstairs by the door had been fairly heavy stating she was travelling, and not just for a short holiday.

            “You can deduce her once she’s awake, here!” John interrupted, thrusting a dishcloth full of ice into his hands. “Hold that on her head while I get all these wet things off.” John commanded, the army doctor suddenly right there in the forefront.

            Sherlock grimaced slightly at being given orders, but when it came to taking care of others he’d learned over the years that John Watson didn’t mess around, and would never take a  “no” from him when it came to caring for another’s well being. It was one of the things that had puzzled Sherlock in the beginning, but he’d come to accept and even cherish about his friend.

            John immediately set to work removing the girl’s wet sneakers. “So are you going to tell me why we have a girl on our sofa tonight, or should I start guessing?”

            Sherlock crouched and set the ice pack against the girl’s head scrape. “Because she managed to injure herself right in front of our door as I was arriving home.”

            “She did?” John moved to set the wet shoes near the fireplace to dry then sauntered back.

            “Yes, I got out of the cab and she was by the café downstairs…” Sherlock’s voice trailed off as he replayed the scene in his minds eye. She’d looked up at him and even through the rain he’d happened to see her expression of terror. She’d fumbled with her umbrella then attempted to run. He’d called out, but she had already begun to fall as he sprinted across the street.

            “She was afraid of me.” He murmured, puzzled.

            “Ya, well you can be a bit intimidating at times.”

            Sherlock flashed his friend an annoyed glance. “I was on the other side of the street, she tried to run and fell. I didn’t see what she hit, but from the angle of her fall I’m guessing the stairs.”

            “We should probably call for an ambulance Sherlock…a concussion could be serious.”

            “No!” Sherlock’s tone was sharp and John blinked at him in confusion.

             

“Why the hell not?” John’s gaze flashed an angry blue, done with the vague answers.

            Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, still holding the icepack to the girl’s temple. He then began to speak rapidly, lost in what John had come to refer to as ‘deduction thought’.

            “She’s phobic about being chased, we know that much from her reaction to a stranger getting out of a cabin and merely walking in her direction. I was wearing all black, most likely she mistook it for a uniform. Whoever she is, she will most likely be distrusting of policeman, doctors, anyone in uniform. She could be a fugitive, but it’s doubtful a violent one as her expression was fear and panic versus anger. She made no move to reach for a weapon of any kind, only to run.”

 

            John listened, getting it for the most part, but he was still greatly concerned as a head injury was nothing to trifle with. He hadn’t seen how she hit or how hard, and without being able to ask her questions, or have any access to equipment, he had no way of knowing if her injuries were merely a knock to the head or a full blown brain injury.

            “Sherlock, that makes sense, but a concussion can be serious. She could have any number of a symptoms, head wounds can be nasty and deceiving in their appearance. It doesn’t look too bad, but she could have brain hemorrhage, skull fracture, any number of injuries and without proper equipment I can’t make a guess to treat her.”

            “Did you have proper equipment in the desert John?” Sherlock retorted, knowing that John disliked it immensely whenever his medical skills were challenged,.

            John bristled, knowing that his flatmate was playing him, but set his jaw anyway.

            “No.”

            “Then do whatever you did back there when you suspected a concussion.”

            “It’s not that simple, and you know it. I would have killed to have had access to equipment when other soldiers’ got injured. I will not be bullied or manipulated into playing God with another life…not when I have the tools so close.”

 

            Sherlock heaved a sigh, knowing that this battle was about to be lost when a soft moan interrupted them both. Sherlock jerked the ice away from her face immediately, staring at her as her eyelashes fluttered slowly against pale cheeks.

            “Keep the ice on.” John directed, leaning over to watch as the girl came to… her lids slowly raising to reveal blue eyes, and John suddenly felt a shiver chase down his back as he stared into the unfamiliar face.  Despite his medical instinct he flicked a nervous look toward Sherlock who was watching intently as well…..

            ….with the eyes the exact same shade of ice blue.

 


	3. Introductions

 

Mycroft immediately began typing a text to his brother, even as he gathered up all the paperwork on his desk and began shoving it into a briefcase with his free hand.

 

**Don’t frighten her.**

**-MH**

 

There was no response, and Mycroft only prayed that he wasn’t already too late.  He hoped that Sherlocks’ curiosity and John’s medical skills would keep the girl put for now, at least until he could make it over there to investigate himself. He’d hoped to keep tabs on her from afar for a bit to avoid conflict or terrifying her right off the bat. But clearly fate did not agree with his plans, as it had conveniently led her directly to Sherlock, forcing his hand as it were.

Mycroft snapped his briefcase and buttoned his suit jacket back up, reaching for his phone once again. This time before typing out a second text to Sherlock, which he doubted would be read either…he pulled up a different number. He would need help to contain this, to keep it out of the papers, and to protect both his brother, the doctor, that landlady that Sherlock seemed so annoyed with (yet nearly killed a man for threatening), and the girl herself. He wondered what her response would be to Sherlock and John; she had seemed in terror as Sherlock had approached her on the camera feed. Mycroft grimaced slightly at the image, but he had a sense that her fear was more rooted in her assumption that Sherlock’s black coat and attire was that of one of the men that chased her all over America for nearly a decade. 

He shook his head trying to focus his thoughts as they raced all over, and concentrated on the text he typed out. He’d added the D.I’s number as a precaution, knowing that Lestrade was one of the only law enforcement that his brother tolerated at all. He’d observed the Inspector at the crime scenes many times, and had often commended the man silently on his patience. He’d seen the fury in the man’s face ebb and flow many times as Sherlock unleashed his verbal abuse (which normally was not really meant as actual harm, but Sherlock’s mind often was moving too fast to know the venom with which his words were received).  He knew that Sherlock trusted the D.I., so he would naturally be the one to call, as John knew the man as well. He’d be the least likely to alarm the men and hopefully could be trusted to keep his mouth shut.

 

He glanced at the hour and realized just how late it was, so he issued a warning about the next day…hoping that he’d be able to set up her safety for the next 8 hours.  He knew his cryptic order would likely be chastised, but that was the way of things and he stuffed the phone in his pocket before grabbing his things and heading out for the lobby to awaken his driver, who was no doubt nodding on the sofa in the lounge. His deduction was right of course, but the man jumped up quickly despite his disorientation when he heard Mycroft’s hurried steps echo in the corridor.

 

“Leaving for the night Sir?”

“Yes, quickly please.”

“Of course, Mr. Holmes. Home then?”  
            “No…I need to make a stop first.” Mycroft quickly moved behind the man as they strode toward the black sedan. “Baker Street, and hurry.”

 

*************************************************************************

 

            Charlotte heard them bickering as she came to.  Even through the dull throbbing ache in her head she heard the two voices, one soft and gentle, the other deep and rumbling. Her heart thudded nervously as she assumed that she’d been caught, but their words didn’t sound like anything she’d ever heard from an agent.  They were arguing about her injury from the sound of it, and most agents wouldn’t care about something as simple as her falling or being knocked out. Hell, she’d been knocked out once or twice by a few of them over the years on purpose. 

            She blinked slowly once, her eyes focusing on the patterned wallpaper, and what looked like a painted…smiley face? She tried to shift, but the pain bloomed in her head and before she realized it, she let out a soft groan and closed her eyes once more. The voices stopped instantly and the cold against her temple was yanked away, leaving just the ache behind. She grimaced and risked another look. 

            Now her view of the room was obscured by a concerned face, and Charlotte felt the cold pack return to her head. The ice numbed the pain slightly and gave her more leave to focus her gaze on the man. Sandy hair framed a kind face, a forehead creased with concern as he stared back at her. Even without using her skills, she knew that this was no agent, and some of the tension relaxed from her body. She sighed slightly and met the man’s eyes, the deep dark blue widening as their gazes locked. She watched the change in his expression as he focused in on her eyes.  It wasn’t a new thing for a person to be unnerved by their odd color, she’d heard that most of her life… and yet this man seemed to have a slightly different reaction.  He stared intently for a moment, swallowed nervously, breaking their connection to glance to his right.

 

            “Sherlock…..do you see that?” He stammered, and she placed his voice as the softer one she’d heard.

             “Curious!” the deeper voice rumbled softly near her ear, and Charlotte tried to turn her head to look at its owner, but the dishtowel obscured her vision.

            The blond man seemed to regain his composure and reached to take her pulse. On instinct, Charlotte yanked her hand away before he could touch her. She looked back toward him warily and saw what looked like genuine confusion dance across his features and even a hint of rejection.

            “I…I’m sorry.” She whispered, suddenly feeling too vulnerable laying there while the two men stared at her. She struggled to raise herself into a sitting position, placing her own hand over the one that still held the ice to her head to take it over. She felt the cool fingers slide out from under her own quickly, almost as fast as she’d yanked her hand from the other man’s touch.

            “Easy now….don’t rush it.” The blond spoke again, reaching out as if to help steady her as she sat up. His hands stopped just short of her shoulders as he remembered her reaction to his first touch, and he flexed his hands for a moment confused, then dropped them back down at his sides.

            Charlotte pressed the ice pack against the ache in her temple and closed her eyes again for a moment, attempting to focus. She needed to work through the pain to use her skill and it took a moment of deep breaths for her to focus beyond the throbbing. But once she concentrated, she began to hear them in her mind. Her gift hummed to life and she focused in on the voices that now buzzed loudly, flexing the part of her mind like a sore muscle until she could make out the words. 

            The softer voice was clear first as his thoughts spoke slower and in a much more orderly fashion than the loud, fast rambling that emanated from his companion. Charlotte wrinkled her forehead as she tried to listen to them both, keeping her eyes shut.

            _leave it to my flatmate to come across such a pretty thing by accident_ …..….. _could have a concussion still…. No way to be sure without taking her to the hospital….know he said she would be scared of that….but not going to chance it with a head injury…. Why is she keeping her eyes closed…..is she going to lose consciousness again?….._

            “No…I’m awake.” She answered aloud, without thinking and relaxed her face slightly, opening one eye to look at the blond man who she matched with the mental worrying. His eyes widened in shock as she heard him reel from her answering a question he hadn’t spoken aloud.         

            “I didn’t say that…out loud.” He stammered.

            She smirked slightly and opened her other eye to get a better look at the other man, who was now standing back by the door. She assumed he belonged to the other voice, the deep baritone that spoke so fast she almost couldn’t understand it as it raced through her head.

           

 _…..what is she talking about? ….doesn’t look more than 30  years….non smoker….never married, no ring mark on her finger…pale skin, doesn’t go out much or hales from a colder climate….bag was heavy, most likely travelling….panicked at a stranger approaching her on the street….didn’t want John to touch her….possible abuse in her background from a male figure….couldn’t be her father as John isn’t much older….more likely had something to do with medical history_ ….

 

            Charlotte grimaced as she took in the taller man, relaxing her mind to let the speedy rumble of his thoughts quiet in her head. It was too much and she could tell that he wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. She instead focused on his details, he was tall, pale like herself, his dark hair still damp and curling up against his forehead. He returned her stare as she took in his suit slacks and blue buttoned shirt. But it was his eyes that caught her attention more than anything, even more than the odd train of his thoughts. 

            The other man picked up on it immediately.

            “Sherlock! Do you see what I mean? She has the same…”

            “1 in six individuals are born with blue eyes John, it’s not that uncommon!” He snapped.

            “But they don’t….I mean….she…”

            “Yes I see the similarity, but I doubt…”   

            Charlotte closed her eyes and let out a sigh as the throb in her head picked up in intensity. She let out a quiet curse under her breath and she heard the shorter man chuckle at the vulgar word.

            “Not funny…hurts.” She murmured, slowly opening her eyes again to see him advancing on her, his movements slow…like one would approach a cornered animal.

            “May I?” He asked this time as he gestured at her head. “I’m a doctor.”

 

            Charlotte cringed at the word before she could stop herself. She’d experienced all manners of hell at the hands of those who had called themselves ‘doctors’. She looked into the kind face of the blond, and swept her eyes over his form, clad in a soft looking tan jumper and jeans, she quickly discerned that he had nothing in common with the beasts that the agents employed.  This man radiated both tenderness and compassion, and a sense of home and comfort…all things that Charlotte herself had never known. She decided to risk trusting him, if just for the moment.

            She met his eyes and nodded. He alighted beside her on the sofa and took the dishtowel of ice from her. She let him look at her bump and take her pulse. He retrieved a small flashlight from his keys and tested her tracking as his companion remained frozen to the spot by the door. He hadn’t moved since she’d awoken, and now had his pale hands pressed together just under his chin. He was silent, simply watching the interaction. But Charlotte could tell from his intense stare that he was scrutinizing every nuance of the scene in front of him.

            “Don’t worry, that’s normal for him.” The doctor murmured with a smile, ignoring the irritated huff from behind him. “I’m John, Watson.”

            Charlotte relaxed a little as he finished his examination. It had been a long time since she had been able to rest and the fatigue was creeping up on her, even as the pain in her temple began to slow.

            “And your friend over there?” She asked when the other man didn’t speak.

            “Sherlock Holmes, my flatmate.” He volunteered.

        

            Charlotte flicked her gaze toward the pale face in the corner. “Sherlock?”

            Those familiar eyes rolled. “Yes, Holmes. You’ve heard of me?”

            “No.” Charlotte smirked.

            “You don’t read the papers then?” He questioned, finally advancing a step closer to the sofa.

            “Not yours.”

            “Accent is American, you just arrived then?” Another step.

            “This morning.” Charlotte felt something deep down inside stir. This man was used to intimidating people. She wasn’t about to back down.

            “That answers a few questions.” Another step closer.        

            A loud buzzing sounded and the man unfolded his hands and reached into his pocket for a mobile phone. Whatever he saw on the screen made his expression change slightly, going from curiosity to irritation as he shoved the phone back away.

            “What’s going on Sherlock?” John asked, as he seemed to be done examining her.

            “My brother...” Sherlock surprised them both by rapidly advancing until he was towering over where they sat, his eyes now blazing.

            “Who _are_ you?!”

           

            Sherlock stood stiffly, glowering down at the girl and John, who now sat beside her on the sofa. His mind whirled with possibilities. She was an enigma and his mind grabbed onto the mystery with a hungry ferocity. Her puzzle was now infinitely more complicated and interesting with the addition of Mycroft’s cryptic message. Obviously she wasn’t a random stray, if his brother had taken notice. And not only had Mycroft noticed, he seemed interested…that spoke volumes.

            Before he could launch into another inquiry the girl hissed slightly and eased the ice pack from her head. His eyes scanned the scrape and small bump that had risen up just outside of her hairline. John instantly switched his focus back to her care and rose to go and grab his first aid kit from the kitchen, and took her towel to change the ice.

Sherlock moved himself over to his chair but did not sit, instant he refolded his hands under his chin and watched. The girl met his stare without blinking, her damp hair was beginning to dry slightly in the warm room and the black curls framed those eyes that were so like his own that John had been stunned by it. Sherlock knew that similar eye colors could mean nothing, he’d spit out that statistic, but in truth he was slightly surprised by the fact that her blue eyes were so much like his. He’d often been told that his particular shade of blue was uncommon, but he normally scoffed it to the way he stared at people, assuming it was his deducing that made them uncomfortable and the color was a convenient excuse.

 

            “People call you a freak about it too?” She murmured, the corner of her mouth pulling up slightly into a smirk.

            Sherlock felt his skin prickle up as he realized that she was commenting on a thought he hadn’t spoken. His mind raced, and he quickly deduced that she was just perceptive, like himself, and had noticed him staring at that feature.

            “I’ve heard that word before, yes.” He murmured, cocking his head slightly to try and figure out more.

            She was quiet for a moment, still meeting his stare dead on. Her expression was tired, yet curious as well. “Why did you do it?” She asked, her voice softer now.

            “Do what?”

            “Take me in.”

            “You were hurt.”

            “Yes, but wouldn’t most people have called for help? Not necessarily taken in a stranger.”

            “I’m not most people.” Sherlock replied, then continued with a quick excuse. “Plus, John is a doctor.”

            She bristled at the title, something he’d seen her do when John used the same word. He’d been right about the fear of hospitals then.

            “Why did you try to run?” Sherlock moved his hands from his chin to fold his arms over his chest.

            She didn’t answer at first, then leaned back slightly against the sofa, pulling her knees up to wrap her arms around them. The pose was somewhat childlike as she leaned her chin on her knees and looked toward the fireplace where the flames crackled brightly. Her gaze took on a faraway look for a moment as she spoke.

            “Your coat…I thought you were one of them.”

            Sherlock curiosity peaked, he risked a step toward her. “Them?”

            She turned her face to look at him, her eyes pinning him to the spot with the weary haunted look they now wore. “The men who have been chasing me for the last 14 years.”

 

            “Here now, will you let me clean that for you…and then here’s something that might make it feel a bit better.” John returned to the room with a glass of water and some medicine for the ache.

            Sherlock grumbled as his line of questioning was halted. He knew that it was worthless to try to keep grilling her until John had finished. He finally allowed himself to flop into his chair and just watched as his mind raced with guesses and possibilities.

            Charlotte eyed John’s offering before gingerly taking it.

            “If you want to see the bottle itself, I’ll bring it. It’s just a painkiller.” He offered.

            She looked into his face for a moment before shaking her head, and swallowing the pill with a gulp of water. As she felt the cool water go down, she was reminded of the fact that she hadn’t eaten all day and her stomach gurgled noisily. She laughed softly in apology.

            John sat beside her again and smiled. “Hungry?”

            “A little.”

            “We can fix that as well, can’t we Sherlock?” John glanced at the pale man who was watching them again with that scrutinizing look. He rolled his eyes and opened the first aid kid. “That is a yes. Now can I?” He gestured at the wound.

            Charlotte nodded and moved one hand to hold back her curls so John could clean and place a bandaid over the area.  His touch was extremely gently and she felt some more tension ebb from her.  The sense of home in their flat was so inviting, between the fire and the doctor’s kind tending, Charlotte began to wonder if she was dreaming. She was never allowed to relax, or experience peace of this sort. Normally any rest or downtime she managed to steal was alone in a hotel room somewhere, with nothing but the television for company.

            “There now, that’s better. I’d still feel better if you let me bring you over to the hospital for a some tests to make sure….”

            “No!” Charlotte’s sudden exclamation made both men snap their heads in her direction.  It also caused her head to throb hard once more, and she winced. John gingerly handed her the fresh towel of ice he’d brought over, his wary expression touching her.

            “I’m sorry….I just…I can’t go there.” She let him place the towel against her head again, and looked up to meet that dark blue concern in his eyes.  “I know it sounds crazy, but if you care at all...don’t make me.”

            John leaned in to gently push some of her curls out of the way so he could make sure the ice connected with its target. Her damp hair clung to his fingers as he looked into her face trying to understand.

            “I told you!” Sherlock crowed suddenly into the silence.


	4. Puzzle Pieces

 

            Greg Lestrade shuffled into his dark flat, not even bothering to flick on the lights. He hung his coat on the hook by the door and quickly made his way back to his room, instinctively moving around the few sparse bits of furniture he’d brought here with him during the move. He hated this damn place.  It wasn’t a bad flat, not too far from the Yard,  and the rooms were large enough.  It was the idea of the thing. This was the where he ended up, by himself after working his tail off for years trying to pretend that his marriage wasn’t a failing dream.

            He stumbled over some clothing he’d left on the floor in his bedroom and muttered under his breath a note about cleaning up in the morning. He drifted through the motions of cleaning himself up and changing into some softer clothes to sleep in. The bathroom light made him wince slightly after so much dark and he quickly finished up so he could extinguish it and drag himself into the bed.  This was the only piece of furniture that he owned now that he actually liked. It was a large comfy beast of a thing, much too big for just one man, but he’d filled it a down comforter and a few pillows. Most nights the barricade of blankets and fluff helped dull the ache for a few hours.

He thought back to the cryptic text that Sherlock’s elder brother had sent earlier. A few ideas flitted through his mind about what it could have meant, possibly a case that he was about to be handed, or maybe Sherlock had pissed off some of the wrong people again. _Lord knows he’s done it enough times…_ Greg chuckled, it had taken him years to consider the lanky detective an ally…but he had to laugh at times when he listened to the man bring anyone who challenged him to their knees with his vicious tongue and sharp wit. Even though sometimes those chuckles were hard won with mountains of paperwork to get the pale man out of the trouble he caused; Greg wouldn’t trade them. Sherlock’s help with cases was invaluable and he hated to admit it, but he’d grown fond of the man.

The arrival of John had helped things considerably, with the way the doctor had of reigning in Sherlock before he caused too much damage. It made crime scenes more palatable when he had a comrade in arms to eye roll along with him when Sherlock got too involved or worked up over his deductions. It also helped knowing that someone was watching out for his friend. Greg remembered many nights he’d had to lock him up overnight to know that he wasn’t out looking for a fix. That memory brought about a sickening hunch that perhaps that was what Mycroft was alluding too in the text…perhaps a relapse concern?

_No._ Greg yawned and rolled onto his side, hugging one of the pillows into his chest and trying to embrace the exhaustion that blanketed his tired frame.  John would have called him by now if that was a real concern. And Mycroft wouldn’t have waited until morning to act either. Sherlock had been clean for quite a few years now as far as he knew. And with John living with him, there would be little chance for a relapse to slip by unnoticed.

_So what the hell did Mycroft Holmes need his help with then?_

           

********************************************************* 

 

            The silence that settled over the room was comfortable, despite the mystery that lingered in the air around the three of them. Sherlock remained where he’d fallen into his favorite chair, and John leaned back against the sofa, so that the arm that held the ice to the wound on her head was supported.  The only sound really was the fire and the rain that still drummed against the windows. The whole scene would have seemed very quaint and homey, had it not been for the lump on her head, and the bizarre mystery of it all.           

            “Charlotte.” She murmured into the silence, unwrapping her arms from her knees and relaxing a bit more. The painkiller John had given her was beginning to kick in and the ache in her head dulled slightly. 

            Both men looked curious at her omission. She offered a small smile.

            “My name.”

            “Well obviously.” Sherlock quipped from his chair, ignoring the glare his flatmate shot him. “Do you have a surname that accompanies it?”

            Charlotte narrowed her eyes slightly as she met Sherlock’s pointed stare with a stubbornness that rivaled his own. “Why don’t you guess if you’re so smart?”

            Sherlock didn’t blink. “I’d need more information first.”

            “Well you’re not getting it.”

            “Then how about the name of those you’re running from?”

            “No.”

            “Difficult does not equal alluring.”

            “Good thing that’s not my intention then.”

            “Are you two about finished?”  John interrupted, looking between the scowls with a slightly amused and exasperated expression.

            “No.” Both voices answered in unison, neither even looking surprised at the coincidence.

            There was another moment of silence before Charlotte’s stomach let out a loud growl and set both her and John laughing. Sherlock kept his composure, refusing to laugh, but he did relax back into the chair.           

            “Well, I’d say you can battle it out once we’ve gotten some food in you.” John removed the ice from Charlotte’s head as it was starting to melt and soak through the towel again. He scanned his patch job and nodded before retreating into the kitchen to grab some of the take away menus that he kept in a drawer. You never knew when you’d be able to eat when Sherlock was on a case, and often take away was the only way to grab a bite, he’d acquired quite the collection of menus over the last few years. 

            When he returned he caught that Charlotte was shivering slightly and realized that her clothes were still quite damp. He chided himself for not thinking of that already and excused himself from the room to jog upstairs. He quickly rifled through his things for a pair of sweatpants and a clean shirt that he could offer. Wouldn’t do to have the girl come down with pneumonia on top of her head injury, he thought to himself as he made his way back down.

            Charlotte and Sherlock hadn’t moved from where he’d left them, and John paused for a moment in the doorway. There was something that tugged at him about the girl, normally strangers or clients in their flat always felt like interlopers. There was always an uncomfortable tension in the air whenever they had company…and John’s girlfriends especially had been unwelcome. But Charlotte’s presence did not give off the same feeling and John pondered that. Something about her seemed to fit in their space, with them.

 Trying to process, he glanced from her to Sherlock and back again. The similarities between them suddenly seemed more obvious as he observed them without their notice.  Charlotte had relaxed into a sitting position, and her dark hair tumbled around her in loose curls…curls like Sherlock’s hair might if it were longer. They were both so pale, with that ethereal complexion that would seem more at home on a vampire. And their eyes, he’d noticed that straight away, despite Sherlock’s snappy reaction over his comment. John felt a shiver chase down his spine at the oddity of it. How on earth had Sherlock managed to stumble across a young woman with so many similarities?

 

            “John, are you going to stand there and shout at us all evening or should we text Angelo’s for an order?” Sherlock interrupted his musings.

            “I didn’t say anything.”

            “Your amateur deductions are practically screaming.”

            John sighed and moved toward Charlotte, extending his arms with the clothes. She looked at him curiously for a moment. “You’re still cold.”

            “I had a bag,” she began.

            “Downstairs…drenched though. If John’s aim is you being dry and warm, you’d best take his things instead.” Sherlock interrupted.

            Charlotte looked up to meet John’s eyes as she took the things from him and unfolded herself to stand from the sofa. “Thank you.”

            John showed her to their bathroom then returned to the living room, surprised to see Sherlock already on the phone with Angelo. He spoke hurriedly, ordering both their favorites and an additional dish before hanging up and turning to face John.

            “What?”

            “You didn’t even ask her what she wanted.” John said the first thing that came to mind.

            Sherlock shrugged. “Don’t be ridiculous. Between yours, mine, and the third I added …she’s bound to like one of them.” 

 

 ******************************

            It was strange, just how easily it came with them, Charlotte mused as she paused a moment in the bathroom. She’d been on the run for so long now that companionship had been all but forgotten. And it had been years since she spent more than an hour in anothers’ presence. It was safer that way, she tried to tell herself constantly.  The less time she spent with people, the less they would remember about her. She told herself it was for their own protection as well as hers. But she missed it. Her chest constricted gently as she flashed back to so many lonely nights in empty rooms.  It had been a long time since she’d even had the comfort of a human touch. That had been part of the reason she’d consented to let John tend to her. Feeling him move her hair, and even placing the ice pack on her head…it had been the closest she’d been to someone in months.

            She heard the two men arguing out in the flat, something about food ordering.  She smiled a little, it was obvious the two were very close; close enough to bicker in that familiar way.  She’d already observed the basis of their dynamic a bit. Sherlock was the loose cannon, the wild and unpredictable one while John was the grounding force. He was the brains and the flash, while John was the heart and the balance…two interlocking pieces.  That brought up another thought,    _Will I ever find mine?_

She shivered slightly and brought herself out of her head and back to the task at hand.  She stripped out of her wet clothes and into the comfortable dry ones that John had given her. The pants were still a bit too long and both they and the shirt hung loosely on her small frame. She glanced in the mirror, seeing just how pale she looked now, and the mess that her curls were drying into. She tried to comb her fingers through them to settle it a bit, trying to tame the mane that she’d let grow out.

Her eyes fluttered down to the silver line across her neck. The baggy neckling of John’s shirt  made it quite visible now and she knew that Sherlock wouldn’t miss it when he next looked closely.  She tried to think of a quick lie, so she’d have one on hand. She mentally sorted through her collection of explanations that she kept in her mind for questions that she encountered…but a deep seated feeling tugged at her.

            _I don’t want to lie to him….to either of them._

            Charlotte closed her eyes for a moment a sighed. She’d only known the two men an hour or so….but they were the first people she’d ever wanted to know the truth. _Maybe they’d be able to help._

 

            “You all right in there?” John’s voice called through the door.

            “Fine, thanks” She tried to compose herself a bit before returning to the room to face them.

            Both faces to turned to stare as she joined them, Sherlock still studying her, and John observing with a smile.           

            “Feel better?” He asked.

            “Much.”

            “Certainly look better on you than me.” John said warmly, motioning at the clothing.

            “Except for the fact that they are too large for her in every possible way.” Sherlock grumbled.

            Charlotte laughed slightly at John’s scowl.

            “Food should be here shortly. Want me get those things dried for you?” John changed the subject, and came to take the wet things from her hands.

            “Yes, thank you.”

            “I’ll just go toss these in the dryer.” John disappeared back into the hallway beyond their kitchen, leaving Charlotte alone with Sherlock.          

            “So I’m captive then?” She ventured.

            Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at her. “A common occurrence for you I’m guessing?”

            Charlotte stood her ground, placing her hands on her hips to signal that she was not about to let him win so easily. “I was never arrested if that’s what you’re asking.”

            “But you’re familiar with being held prisoner.” Sherlock countered, stepping toward her  so they faced each other in front of the fire. His height and hers made for an almost comical face off. She appeared younger and smaller compared to him, though she doubted their ages were far apart.

            “True.” She only offered the one word and she thought to use her skill on him, but knew that would be cheating in this battle of wits and wills. Plus she didn’t want to scare them too badly, and she’d already slipped up on that earlier.

            “I don’t doubt it. But you’ve decided to trust us for whatever reason….you’re not even sure yourself and I haven’t figured it out yet either, except that you’re not used to being around people…especially not ones that show kindness or concern for your well being.”

            Charlotte nodded slightly, moving her hands from hips to fidget with the hem of the shirt. “You’re good, aren’t you?”

            “John conveys that fact to me quite often.” Sherlock smirked slightly, and Charlotte had to chuckle softly as she assumed that was the extent of him displaying humor.

            “You and him often make a habit of taking in strays?” She asked.

            “Only those who present a puzzle worth solving.”

            “So I’m a game then?”

            “Possibly. But since you’ve got no place to go, you may as well stay a bit. I doubt John will let you leave until that bump goes down anyway.” Sherlock tilted his head slightly as he scanned her face once more, this time his gaze dropping to her neck and instantly fixing on the obvious scar across her throat.

            Charlotte saw his focus change as he stepped toward her again, his hand reaching out almost unconsciously. She forced herself not to flinch, but he stopped short of touching her hair anyway.

            “May I?”

            Charlotte stared at him curiously, surprised that he asked permission. He seemed the type to act first and apologize later, if he apologized at all. She saw only interest in his eyes, no malice and she tipped her chin up slightly in surrender.           

            Sherlock’s touch was feather light as he pushed her curls over her shoulder and traced the puckered line across her jugular, then slowly removed his hand. 

            “Now that is interesting….” He murmured, obviously pleased as her mystery deepened. She could practically hear his mind whirring happily over the new puzzle piece. 

            Sherlock stepped back now, his hands on his hips, mirroring Charlotte’s own pose as he spoke again, the two sets of blue eyes meeting as he laid it out. John’s footsteps could be heard as he reentered the room  in time to be drawn into Sherlock’s verbal deduction.

            “Imprisonment, years of being followed or chased, no criminal record if you’re to be believed,  phobic of medical personnel and establishments, men in black coats,  pale skin, American Accent,  not used to being touched, and at least one rather violent attempt on your life in recent years…..Who are you?” 

            The room was silent except for the sound of the fire and the rain.

            Then another voice caused all three of them to turn in surprise.        

            “I think I can answer that.”

 

 ********************************************** 

            “Mycroft!?” Sherlock all but shouted in irritation, just as John sputtered out “What are you doing here?”

            Charlotte’s eyes widened at the sight of the impeccably dressed older man in the flat’s doorway. Her pulse raced in fear and she instinctively stepped backward, closer to Sherlock and John. 

            Mycroft entered the room, leaning on his ever present umbrella as he regarded the three of them, doing his best to keep his face emotionless. Normally it wasn’t a challenge but in this moment, staring at the girl he’d only vaguely remembered in hazy dream…he felt a plethora of feelings swarming his brain, addling his normally organized thoughts. He fidgeted with the umbrella, it was his cover for the nervous habit that he’d had since childhood. He’d always been a fidget, his pale hands always giving away his thoughts as he twirled pens, fiddled with cufflinks, whatever. As an adult he’d learned to hold a larger item to keep his hands busy, it masked the impulse quite well, and didn’t betray his thoughts so much. But now, as he watched them, his hands fingers toyed with the handle, his grip flexing then relaxing as he tried to decide the best explanation. 

  His eyes lingered upon Charlotte, the pale blue flickering with recognition as he drank in her face. Charlotte softly stepped back further until her position put her just behind John’s shoulder. He sighed and dropped his gaze to the floor, the empty feeling in his chest throbbing for just a moment. Her behavior clearly stated that the information in her file was barely a glimpse of what they’d put her through.  He’d been searching for her, had several underlings doing research and looking.. for over 10 years now, ever since he’d discovered the possibility of her existence. Now here she was….he’d finally found her, and she was terrified of him.        

            “I know why you think I’m here…But you’re wrong. I’m not going to harm you love.”  Mycroft stated each word slowly and carefully, on the last he raised his gaze to lock with hers. Her eyes were large with concern, but he did not miss that they shared the same shade of blue as Sherlock. Seeing her in the flesh, it was undeniable. Even if he’d thought to doubt it after seeing the tapes, after reading the file….even as much as he didn’t want to believe, hating sentiment as he did…her face slammed the truth home.

            “Who are you?” Charlotte did not move away from her post by John, and Mycroft could already sense that in the small time she’d been here she’d developed a trust with his brother and the doctor. He flicked his gaze over the two men and smirked slightly, thinking that perhaps that might ease the burden of what he was about to divulge. 

            “This is Mycroft Holmes.” John turned to look over his shoulder, and took in the way that Charlotte’s form had tensed up.  “Sherlock’s older brother.”

            Sherlock grumbled something unintelligible before stepping toward his flat mate. The position put him close to Charlotte as well, the three of them facing off with Mycroft. The tension in the flat was suddenly thick as all of them sensed that something was about to happen, that whatever Mycroft knew was going to rock all of them.           

            Mycroft hesitated a moment before slowly removing his overcoat and hanging it on the rack with his umbrella. Sherlock and John both watched his movement with furrowed brows, Mycroft didn’t often linger. 

            “Please relax all of you….this is going to be a rather long explanation I’m afraid.”

            “What are you on about?!” Sherlock demanded, squaring his shoulders as he watched Mycroft move to alight on his chair.  “What on earth could an misplaced American woman have to do with the _British Government_ at this time of night?”

             Mycroft winced as he heard the exact wrong choice of words flow from his impudent sibling. His eyes immediately flew to the girl who hadn’t missed them, her entire form radiating terror as she stumbled back away from all of them. Her back bumped the kitchen table, rattling the beakers that Sherlock had left out from his latest experiment.

            “What? Charlotte!” John moved fast before she could dart away, and caught her hand in a gentle grasp. “It’s all right.” He tried to soothe, but he could feel her trembling under his touch, her eyes still wide and fixed on Mycroft. Even as he squeezed her hand, he hoped for reassurance, he watched as her irises began to shine with tears.

            “Please….” She whispered, the words tumbling out quiet and fast. “…please no.”     

            Sherlock just stared at the scene, his face a mask of confusion as he tried to process. He watched as Mycroft quickly unfolded himself from the chair and strode over to where John had wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding the girl close. She did not attempt to run again, but the shaking gained force and she dropped her gaze as Mycroft came to a stop in front of her.

            There was silence for a moment, but then Mycroft reached a hand out lift the girls chin so he could see her face, the tears still glistening but refusing to actually fall.  He leaned down to look directly into her eyes and in a voice that had more tenderness than John had thought the man possessed he spoke the next words very slowly.

            “I do know who you are, more than you do yourself, Charlotte. But I assure you that I am not here to harm you. And I give you my word…. I will use all of my power to assure that no one ever does so again.”   

            Charlotte drew in a trembling breath as she concentrated on pushing through her fear to use her gift. She needed it in this moment more than the headache it would bring. And as the elegant older man touched her face she quickly tuned out the frantic pace of Sherlock’s deductions, and John’s calming concern to listen to the new voice in her head.

            The words he’d spoken aloud echoed in his mind. He had meant all of them, there was no hidden agenda behind his promise, only pure intention.  Then as she searched his eyes, his thoughts spoke again. _Forgive me child….if I’d only known sooner._ His words were thought directly to her, as if he’d spoken. Charlotte gasped as she watched him nod slightly, as if he was perfectly aware that she could hear this thought.

He stepped away from her then and his thoughts swooped in another direction as he regarded his sibling for a moment then returned to the chair.  She felt her tremors begin to subside a little and allowed her sense to drop as her head began to throb again. John kept his hold about her shoulders and guided her back to the sofa, noticing her grimace as the pain took hold once more.

            “You’re head acting up some more?”

            Charlotte nodded as she sat, flickering her gaze back to Mycroft and Sherlock, who had finally abandoned the spot he’d been frozen in and began to pace by the fireplace. Mycroft sighed once more and rubbed his hand over his forehead.

            “How did you know?” Charlotte asked quietly, the first time she’d spoken directly to him since he’d walked in.

            “I’ve had operatives looking for you for sometime.”

            “I mean about my….” Charlotte’s eyes darted over to Sherlock, then John, then back to Mycroft. “,,,about what  I can do.”

            “Your pursuers kept records regarding your ability…though their findings were largely hypothetical since you manage to escape their facility before all the testing could be completed.” Mycroft spoke quickly, as the idea that he had been unable to help her during that time had pained him when he’d read over the reports. It was a good thing she had escaped, as some of the ‘testing’ that the agents had ordered bordered on obscene.         

            “I came as soon as I was made aware that you were here in London my dear. To be fair, I’d been unsure that you even existed until then. It was only a vague memory I had to go on, and I was young at the time….I’d often chalked up the suspicion to childhood fantasy.” Mycroft then glared up at where Sherlock still paced. “Oh take a seat would you!” He groused. Sherlock returned the glare but did deign to flop in John’s chair.

            “What are you babbling about Mycroft?  Of course she exists, and what’s that nonsense about childhood?”

            “Surely you’ve noticed the similarities Sherlock! You, the great detective who sees everything?”

            “She has the same color eyes? Oh we’ve been over that already. Like I told John, 1 in six humans are born with blue eyes Mycroft…surely you haven’t forgotten that fact, or maybe you are getting slower…”

            “I have not!” Mycroft snapped suddenly, reaching his limit of Sherlock’s verbal lashing. 

            “Well then stop dancing around it and tell us what you know! Who is she? And what about _her_ is so interesting that it brought you here in the middle of the night in a storm?”

            Mycroft took a deep breath and turned his gaze from his brother to where Charlotte still sat beside John, her arms wrapped around her middle as she stared in him in wonder.

            “Her name is Charlotte Emery, but that was the one given to her when she was a year old by her adoptive parents in California.” Mycroft paused once to let the effect of his next words serve their purpose.

“But she was born Charlotte Arabella **_Holmes_**.”

 

            “What?!” Sherlock’s voice choked on the word as he glanced rapidly between the girl and his brother’s locked gazes. What little color Charlotte had quickly drained, turning her complexion a sickly white. John flicked his eyes from Sherlock to Mycroft, then back to Charlotte, his brow furrowing. The girl looked like she was about to faint.

            “You mean…she’s…” John sputtered, trying to put it all together.          

            “Yes.” Mycroft stated, looked from one face to the next, finally ending on his brother’s shocked expression.  The two men locked gazes for a moment, Sherlock analyzing every nuance of his brother’s expression.

            Mycroft reached to pull a file from the briefcase that he’d brought in. Quickly he retrieved a copy of a document and passed it to Sherlock’s hands to review. He glanced over to see that Charlotte was still frozen beside John, her color stark white. His brow furrowed as he flicked a gaze at the doctor beside her.

            “See that she doesn’t faint….this is important and I do hate repeating myself.”          

            John sighed and rubbed a hand absentmindedly over her back, hoping the touch would be of some comfort. She’d seemed to get over her aversion to his closeness in the time she’d been in the flat, almost now the opposite as she remained still despite the fact that their bodies were pressed together from hip to shoulder. She still felt cool to his touch, even through the dry clothing and the soft curls of her hair tickled the skin of his hand. There was something so familiar about her presence that John was only vaguely shocked at Mycroft’s confession that she was a relation of theirs. A cousin perhaps?           

            Sherlock’s eyes scanned the document then he began to read it aloud a line.

            “Home birth record for a Victoria Elizabeth Holmes 1:17am, January the 6th, 1980. it shows she gave birth to a male child….” Sherlock stopped for a moment to glare at his brother. “I know all this….what is the point Mycroft?!”

            Mycroft smirked. “Yes, that is the copy that Father was given when he returned to the Manor the next morning from his trip. I discovered about 10 years ago however that it is not entirely accurate.”

            He reached for a second document and handed it Sherlock for comparison.

            “You’ll find that THIS record is the one that was done first.”

            Sherlock’s voice quickly rambled out the new data. “Home birth record for a Victoria Elizabeth Holmes, 1:17am, January the 6th, 1980….successfully gave birth to ….twins.” Sherlock’s voice broke at the last word and his head snapped up to lock gazes with Charlotte across the space.

            Both sets of blue eyes regarded each other with similar expressions of shock and horror.

            John’s mouth dropped open, only Mycroft seemed unaffected. He continued where his brother had left off. “I suppose I should start with that night, since I was the only one present to remember it.”      

            Mycroft folded his hands under his chin in proper Holmes fashion as he began to narrate, paying no heed to the tension in the room, and the fact that he had three sets of faces gaping at him like a school of codfish.

            “I was only seven years old, but I remember the noise. Father was in London for business and was not due to return until the following day. The household staff called for the local doctor when it was apparent that Mother’s labor had begun. The doctor came quickly, and the commotion in the manor intrigued me. I remember the screaming that echoed through the halls, and the flustered way the staff scurried about. The doctor had brought two nurses along with him to assist, and I was shuffled away to my rooms. I awoke in the middle of the night to find the house quieter, but still quite buzzing with activity. I remember going to see about Mother. In her suite of rooms the doors were open and she was asleep, with a nurse tending to her.  There was a great caterwauling going on in the adjoining nursery…that would have been you Sherlock, noisy about your opinions even at birth.” Mycroft smirked and lifted an eyebrow at Sherlock’s embarrassed grimace.

            “The next part haunted me for years later.  I remember stretching up to look into the bassinet to see what that ruckus was about.  You were there, hollering your fool head off of course…but there was another infant beside you, one that I liked a great deal more because it was quiet.” Mycroft said gently, his eyes moving slowly to seek Charlotte’s this time.  Something about those eyes brought the hazy memory into clear focus and as she watched him, she inclined her head slightly, her brow furrowing just slightly. He could almost feel her presence in his mind and it both felt strange and familiar at once. He’d read the reports about her supposed mental abilities and had scoffed at some of it, but now as he felt her presence even more he had cause to wonder. He and Sherlock had been gifted with superior intellect and logic skills, at the expense of social skills even. Perhaps Charlotte’s gift had been mental as well, but just of a different sort.

            He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to will his defenses down a bit. The memory played across his mind, sweeping him back in time to when his family home had seemed endless.  He saw himself as a child, messy auburn hair falling in his eyes, tugging at the neck of the navy plaid pajama set that his nanny had buttoned all the way to the top despite his protests.  He heard the crying, the sound of a newborn infant squalling at full volume. He’d never known such a tiny thing could be so loud. Peeking through the small crack of light in his parents doorway he’d glimpsed his Mother sleeping in the immense bed, a doctor in the chair nearby. But it was the immense noise that interested him more and he quickly scurried to the next doorway and into the nursery.

 A light was on this room as well, but a soft one and he recalled shoving his auburn bangs away from his eyes as he looked into the frilly bassinet. He saw them clearly in his mind now…Sherlock with his shock of black hair, fists waving and his face beet red from crying. They were both so tiny, one dressed in pink, the other in blue...and another second of memory returned to him that he’d not recalled before. He saw himself reach in to touch the other baby, the quiet one that wasn’t screaming its head off. The other baby stared back at him with wide blue gray eyes, her tiny hand closing around his finger and holding tightly.  This baby had a wisp of black hair as well, not quite as thick and a smaller nose that perched above a cherub shaped mouth.  The baby regarded him quietly, her grip tight. Mycroft remembered the awe suddenly having two baby siblings to think about…he’d been excited about becoming a big brother, eager to teach the new child all the things he knew. Finally he wouldn’t be the youngest, the only child in the manor. Oh yes, he’d like this…teaching them how to steal cookies from the kitchen, and where Father kept his secret stash of chocolates in the library.

Then he’d heard the footsteps, and recalled scrambling into the nearby closet, pulling himself behind the garment bags that were stored there. The scent of mothballs stung his nose and he heard the adults outside, a female voice trying to comfort the squalling infant as they left once more.

 

“Mycroft, you okay?” John’s voice cut in and the memory faded out. Mycroft inhaled deeply and opened his eyes to see Charlotte sagging slightly against the doctor. Her face was still plastered with shock but not quite as tense. He could sense that she’d watched that memory along with him, that something about her ability had helped to clarify it.  He tried to offer her a small smile.

            “I only saw you both for a moment before I heard someone coming and hid. I hid there for a moment and heard voices, but couldn’t make out what they said. They took you both from the room and I quickly escaped back to my quarters. In the morning when I awoke, I was told only that I had a younger brother.”

            The room was quiet as they all processed the information.  Sherlock was of course the first to speak.

            “You never thought to tell me about this?!” He raged.

            Mycroft sighed. “I was informed from the first full day of your life that I had imagined the entire thing. I was quite young, and there was never any evidence of the truth for me to come across. Mother and Father hadn’t been told they were expecting twins, and no one took the word of a seven year old seriously enough to investigate.”

            Sherlock was out of his chair and returned to his pacing, his steps echoing through the flat as Mycroft turned his attention back to Charlotte who was still watching him with rapt attention.

 

            “It was not until 10 years ago that I managed to come across the information that I had not imagined the entire thing. Apparently the doctor who delivered you had a fit of conscience in his old age and admitted to the part he played in the abduction. The man was dying and apparently keen to clear his conscience. If he had not retained that initial copy of your birth record, I may never have known.” Mycroft went on to explain about how the doctor had fallen asleep in a chair at some point during the night, in between tending to Mrs. Holmes and when he awakened one of his nurses was gone as well as the female child. The physician, knowing how a powerful family could ruin his practice and possibly get him imprisoned for negligence devised the scheme of altering the birth record and buying the other nurses’ silence.

            None of the staff had actually seen both infants together due to the late hour of their birth and the commotion, so the idea had been decided to tell the Holmes family and staff that only one baby had been delivered.  The doctor later would claim that he did search for the nurse, but she had fled from the area.

            “To America.” Charlotte breathed the words softly. John jumped slightly, as it had been the first time she’d spoken since Mycroft had began 

            “Yes, once I discovered that you had existed I began to try and track you. But it appears that whoever abducted you abandoned you at a year old to the welfare system in the United States.  I followed your records through various foster homes and then through your adoption.           

            “They kept my name?”

            “Apparently when you were abandoned, it was the only information on you...a note that stated your age and first name only.”

           

            “ENOUGH!” Sherlock suddenly bellowed, coming to stand at full alert before his brother, flat mate, and Charlotte. His eyes were wide and his form tense. All of them stared at him in silence for a moment before John unwrapped his arm from Charlotte and slowly rose to his feet.

            “Sherlock….” He whispered softly, reaching a hand out toward the man.

            “No! You….you knew about her for 10 years? You never thought to tell me for 10 bloody years Mycroft?!”

            Mycroft sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead. “I had no way of knowing where she was, or if she’d even lived to adulthood at the time I discovered all of that. Her records were sealed after her adoption. It took some time to pick up her current trail.

            “You should have told me!” Sherlock growled, allowing John to grab his forearm but not changing his focus from his brother. “I could have gone there…I could have found her sooner.” 

            Mycroft glared now, clearly coming to the end of his tolerance. “Oh you could have?  10 years ago Sherlock I was rather busy fishing you out of cocaine induced stupors, I doubt you would have been inclined to believe me.”

            Sherlock’s eyes flashed then, and for a split second John flinched thinking that a fight was about to break out in their flat. He felt the muscles of Sherlock’s forearm tense under his touch, the detectives’ entire body was rigid and John could feel the tension radiating off him. So many reactions and emotions coiled there….John could only imagine after what they’d just heard.

            “Don’t.” Charlotte’s voice suddenly piped up. She struggled to stand up from the sofa and John was torn between wanting to help her and not wanting to let go of Sherlock’s arm. Mycroft moved instead, saving him the decision. He reached a pale hand to help her up and John was surprised that Charlotte didn’t shrink from his touch this time.

            “Sherlock…” Her pleading tone reached through Sherlock’s rage and he relaxed slightly. Sherlock reluctantly raised his gaze to see her staring at him, with the same eyes. Mycroft story fit with all the things he’d deduced thus far. There were still a million questions he wanted to ask, and the larger parts of her mystery. But the similarities he saw in her face…her eyes and hair like his; as he stared other ones manifested as well. Her hands were like Mycroft’s, long palms and shorter fingers, and her nose was reminiscent of their mother.  It would take a DNA test to be sure, though he wasn’t sure he could convince her to do one, but the traits were there plain as day.           

            “Twins, separated at birth.  Holy Mary….”  John murmured, letting go of his flat mate as the tension slowly ebbed from the room. He glanced between the three of them, he’d thought he had his hands full with the bickering brothers, now there was a sister to add into the fray. And from what he’d seen of her already, her banter with Sherlock…she was cut from the same fabric as her brothers. 

But John suddenly put together some of the things Charlotte had told them, what Sherlock had deduced… _about being chased, hunted, her fear of the hospital, doctors, Mycroft’s mention of agents, her being studied_ ….. John turned to look at her and found her watching him in return. She nodded slowly as if she could hear his thoughts. She lifted her chin to display the scar he’d briefly noticed before. Sherlock didn’t flinch, but Mycroft let out a soft hiss as he saw it as well.

“We’re all in for it now, aren’t we?”


	5. In all the world

A buzzer ring suddenly rang through the flat, shattering the silence.  It took a moment for Sherlock to respond.

“That would be the takeaway.”

“Oh, of course, right.” John nodded and ran downstairs to grab the order from Angelo’s delivery boy, who steadfastly refused the wad of money that John pulled from his pocket with a laugh.

When he returned to the flat, he found Mycroft and Sherlock deep in bickering conversation, with Charlotte standing slightly apart, her arms around her middle as she watched the two men with a curious expression. He moved toward the kitchen with the bags and began pulling things from them. As he separated the containers and tried to remember if they had any clean dishes, he felt Charlott sidle up beside him.

“It smells wonderful.” Charlotte moved to help, gently organizing some of the beakers and papers that littered the kitchen table so John had room to arrange.

“Yes, I hope you like what he ordered you. He should have asked.”

“I’m starving. Last meal I had was on the plane and it was awful.” Charlotte looked toward the men who still were bickering at one another, speaking quite quickly and oblivious to the activity in the kitchen.

“They always at each other like that?” She asked quietly.

John snickered and looked at her conspiratorially. “You mean the childish feud?  Yes, I’m afraid so.  The first day I met them Mycroft referred to himself as Sherlock’s arch enemy.”

Charlotte laughed then, the sound bubbly and warm as a genuine smile brightened her face. John found himself drawn in and laughed as well, until their mirth caught the attention of both Holmes brothers.

“What is so bloody funny?” Sherlock growled, causing both Charlotte and John to turn back toward them.

“I believe it is at our expense.” Mycroft murmured, moving towards the coat rack as if he made to leave. He hesitated though before reaching for his overcoat as if he couldn’t make up his mind whether he ought to be gone or stay.

“Wait.” Charlotte spoke up, moving out of the kitchen. Mycroft paused to look down at her as she approached him. She faltered for words as she searched his cold expression. Charlotte got the sense that he was used to masking all of his thoughts and emotions to the point where it happened without his realizing.  She’d been in his mind for a moment, seeing that memory and she had felt the warmth he’d had towards her as an infant, even if only for a moment.

“Don’t go.”

Mycroft was quiet, unable to form an answer for a moment as Charlotte reached out to take a hold of his suit arm gently. “I have so many questions…I need to know what you discovered about me, them, about all of this.”  Her other hand flitted over her throat scar and Mycroft’s brow furrowed. “Who else knows?”

“The operatives I had collecting information on you are paid quite highly for their discretion and I doubt that the American organization would have any way of knowing about our involvement.”

Charlotte didn’t let go of his jacket cuff. “You know…but you don’t understand what they….” She swallowed over the sudden lump in her throat, willing the memories of callous doctors and tests back into the dark recesses of her mind. “…they won’t stop just because I came here. I may have eluded them for the time being, but they will come, they always do. I need to know.” Her voice broke slightly as she struggled to keep her composure under Mycroft’s unblinking gaze.

“You are safe here Charlotte, I will do whatever I can to assure that. I have quite a few resources at my disposal, and despite his lack of manners…I doubt Sherlock, or his doctor, would allow any harm to come to you either.”

His little speech was comforting and as she flexed her consciousness to read his intentions she found that he was dead serious. It was real, everything he’d said…his memory, the information about how she’d been lost to them, all of it. She found herself with the sudden urge to hug the tall cold man before her. She’d been so alone, for so long, always believing that friends or family bonds would never be hers to enjoy.

“I will return tomorrow, I promise. For tonight you will stay here and tomorrow we shall discuss other arrangements for your protection.” Mycroft’s expression relaxed as he allowed a slight smile to lighten his features.

“I am glad that you are here.” He finished, as Charlotte released his sleeve and nodded.

“So am I.”

Mycroft reached then for his umbrella and coat, before pausing once to nod at Sherlock and John. “Good evening then. I’ll be in touch, Sherlock.”

 

****************************************************************************************************

 

 

             John couldn’t stifle the grin as he watched Charlotte dig into her pasta, the sheer bliss of the food obvious on her face as she moaned and closed her eyes. Sherlock froze with his fork halfway to his mouth as they both watched her.

            “Good?” John chuckled.

            Charlotte opened her eyes and her cheeks flushed slightly in embarrassment. “Yes, sorry. I told you, I haven’t eaten since the plane…and this is amazing.”  She twirled more of her pasta around her fork before placing it in her mouth and looked up to see Sherlock still staring at her with a blank expression.

            “And what’s your damage?”

            “I beg your pardon? My _damage_?” Sherlock squared his shoulders a bit.

            Charlotte laughed softly. “I mean why are you staring at me like that? Never seen a woman eat before?”

            “Don’t be ridiculous. I was merely wondering if Mycroft could have been mistaken.”

            John coughed slightly, injecting himself back into the conversation. “Sherlock, are you serious? Mycroft is as rarely wrong about his findings as you are. Not too mention that the two of you obviously share some of the same genetic material. She looks more like you than Mycroft does!”

            Charlotte giggled and continued eating, her eyes flicking back up waiting for Sherlock’s reaction.

            “Yes,…although I can’t be absolutely sure without a DNA profile test. I will secede the fact that there are physical similarities. But just look at her John! She’s eating _, willingly_. And she asked _Mycroft to **stay**_ , I’d never have done that.” Sherlock folded his arms over his chest, looking all the part like a sulking child. John watched him with a dawning thought that made him grin down at his pasta.

            “Oh now what?” Sherlock grumbled.

            John shook his head with a chuckle before looking up to meet Sherlock’s gaze. “You’re pouting now because you believed all this time that you were alone in your oddness. You’ve grown up all these years thinking that you were an anomaly. And now you’re faced with your twin sibling and you're pouting over not being the only child you thought you were.”

            “Rubbish.” Sherlock spat. “Besides, I never thought I was an only child…my meddling older brother has always assured that.”

            “There is a 7 year gap between you and Mycroft, and he was sent away to that posh boarding school when he was 8 wasn’t he? As you were?”

            Sherlock tilted his head slightly as he stared at John. Charlotte was nearly forgotten in the moment as he realized that John not only listened to every detail that he’d told him about his life and childhood, but John cared enough to remember. Most people found themselves fed up with him and his deductions long before he would ever offer them information about himself. And they certainly never cared to remember it if he did so. It was one of those mysteries that Sherlock cherished about John, one of the reasons that John was the one other human on the planet that he didn’t mind being close to.

            “Yes, that is correct.”

            “Most children with a much older sibling, especially one that is not physically present in their formative years still grow up feeling like an only child. And I’m sure that you did as well, prattling around Holmes Manor, blowing up experiments in the greenhouse and what not. You probably got it into your head that you were the only one like you in the world, hence the title on your blog and your ‘created’ career title.” John continued, taking bites here and there but letting his words sink in.

            “You’re learning John.” Sherlock mused aloud, barely mindful of the small smile that pulled at his mouth when he stared at John. The warm glow in his chest thawed his sulk a little as he tucked this memory into the room in his mind palace where he stored things that meant something to him. John understood him in such a unspoken way, and every now and then he showed it with a statement like the one he’d just said. Sherlock had spent so many years alone and feeling as if would never know that kind of understanding that it was comforting on many levels.

            “I know the feeling.” Charlotte said gently, reluctantly breaking the tender moment between the two. “I’ve been on my own for the last 10 years, and it’s been awful to say the least. I’ve always thought that I was a bit of freak, because of …..” She hesitated then, not wanting to alarm the men yet with all of the details of her skill and her story. She’d hinted at it already this evening, and flat out demonstrated it to Mycroft, but then he’d already known. “…anyway, but it’s rather lonely.”

            “Alone is safer, I’d always thought.” Sherlock said, his statement sounding cold, if it weren’t for the small catch in his baritone voice. He flicked a glance at John quickly.

            “Although in recent years, I’ve often been proven wrong on that fact.”

            Charlotte didn’t miss that John’s ears turned pink as he shoveled in another mouthful of his dinner and tried his best to look unfazed at the comment.

 

****************************************************************************************************

 

            It was quite late by the time they cleaned up and Charlotte yawned as she sat back on the sofa. Mycroft had stated that she was to stay here and neither man had argued the fact, for which she’d been grateful. She felt safe here with them, and despite the awkwardness of being faced with the twin she’d never known she’d had…their flat was warm and comforting.  This was their home and the place they were free to be themselves without the outside worlds’ assumptions. She could see it in the mess that Sherlock left strewn about any available surface, and the way that John straightened all of it without real complaint. 

            She tried to take in all the details of the room to learn what she could about John and her…. _brother._ She rolled that word around in her head. It had such a foreign feeling…her adoptive parents had been older and had been unable to have their own children. Even in her early years she’d never known siblings, and now she had two and one of them a twin.  It was almost too much of a culture shock to wrap her brain around, especially with the dull headache she still was nursing. But as Sherlock flounced around the apartment, still smarting from the new information and trying to process it in his own way Charlotte watched him. She slowly slid down to hest her head on the faded union jack pillow as her eyes followed his movements. He fussed with objects then put them down as he talked to himself in whispers.

            “Is it really so horrible?” She asked him when John was out of the room.

            Sherlock stopped mid step and turned to look at her. “Specifically?”

            “Having a sister? I wouldn’t know as I didn’t grow up with any.” She yawned at the end of her sentence.

            “I can’t answer that.”

            “Why not?”

            “Because I grew up only with Mycroft for an older brother, and as John mentioned earlier, we were not in the same household often due to our schooling.” Sherlock moved to sit in his chair as he continued, his pale fingers slowly moving into his thinking pose. “I’d never considered the possibility of having a second sibling, much less a female one.  My only information has come from watching others with theirs. John has a sister that he’s not fond of; he states they’ve always been strained but she also suffers from alcoholism so its hard to tell the root of their estrangement.”

            “And you? What is the root of your issue with Mycroft?” Charlotte blinked slowly as she felt her fatigue settling in her bones.

            Sherlock didn’t answer for a long moment, looking lost in thought. Finally he exhaled a soft sigh. “Mycroft and I have been…at odds for many years. We had a falling out while I was at uni that damaged our relationship. Since then we continue to disagree on various matters.”

            “Such as?”

            “His self appointed position of being my handler.” Sherlock grimaced as the last word left his lips. Charlotte chuckled.

            “You mean he keeps you from causing trouble ?”

            Sherlock found his smirk unable to stifle as he reached for his violin case beside the chair. “He attempts to, with only minor success.”

            “He’s gonna have his hands full with me then.” Charlotte murmured, closing her eyes for just a moment. She heard Sherlock’s next words just before sleep overcame her.

            “Yes, from your cryptic messages, that scar on your throat, and the fact that it took him 10 years to track you down, I can only imagine.”

  


****************************************************************************************************

 

            John returned to the sitting room to a scene that was both familiar and different. Sherlock stood by the window, beginning to play a soft piece of music on his violin, the bow slowly caressing the strings; while Charlotte slept on the sofa. John leaned against the doorframe and watched the scene for just a moment. The rain still pattered against the window where Sherlock stood, the light from the fire flickered over his dark curls and John sighed to himself as he glanced down at Charlotte; seeing those same curls pillowing her sleeping face. A thought resounded in his mind, spreading a tight warmth through his chest.

            _Now he had two Holmes to look after_. Though, only one of them held his heart in an iron grasp, whether or not the tall detective realized it. John had known for some time before the fall, though he’d been better at denying it back then. Once Sherlock had returned a year later and explained that whole mess, John had a much harder time hiding how he felt. Sherlock’s lack of experience with emotion made it easier and more difficult at once, and they’d fallen into a comfortable coexistence with slightly more subtext to their movements than before.

            Charlotte arrival raised a library of questions but it was clear from her fearful entrance into their lives that she needed him as much as Sherlock did, but in a quite different way. _What was it about the Holmes brood that seemed to attract so much trouble?_ John wondered how Mycroft had somehow escaped that tendency, but then again his position afforded him both power and anonymity, two things which might have tempered that trait.

            _Twins._ John mused as he flicked his gaze from the sleeping woman who shared her brother’s physical trait of appearing much younger than her true age. Especially when asleep, Charlotte could have been mistaken for a girl of 18 if one had known better. The gauntness of her petite frame worried John slightly, she’d talked of living on the run for many years and it looked as though she’d not gotten enough food or sleep in some time. His solace with this twin was that she didn’t appear to be as apt to fight him on those two matters like Sherlock was.

 John pondered his reaction to Charlotte, if it was merely the Holmes genes that brought it on, or his nature to care for those in need. He’d always had a hell of a time as child, rescuing any stray kitten that crossed his path. His mother and sister had not always been pleased upon finding various new furred faces in their home and often had forced him to find other homes for them once John had nursed them back to health.

When Mycroft had stated his information, after John had gotten over worrying about Sherlock’s reaction, he’d been faced with a strong brotherly affection himself.  She wasn’t his long lost sibling, but after all the time he’d spent with the Holmes brothers over the last few years, he felt quite like he’d earned his place among them. And Charlotte’s past sounded quite dark, he figured she could use as many of them in her corner as possible.

John quietly grabbed an extra blanket from a closet and slowly draped it over the sleeping girl, smiling gently as he backed away. As he stood up and moved to stoke the fire, Sherlock’s music faded out.

 

“You like her don’t you?” Sherlock’s voice sounded as his music ceased.

John turned curious eyes on his flatmate, surprised to see that Sherlock hadn’t turned from the window, but his violin had lowered.

“Sherlock?”

“You’re worried I’ll mind. But I don’t.” Sherlock’s words tumbled out fast but quiet and John quickly advanced toward where he stood.

“What are you on about?”

“From the moment I brought her in, I knew you would.” Sherlock murmured, not turning to face where John stood just behind him.

John’s chest constricted slightly. If Sherlock had been anyone else, John would have thought the tight tone in his voice would have been jealousy. But Sherlock and he had never named the feeling between as one that could be endangered.

“You git…. You knew I’d like her, but you didn’t think as to why?”

“What?”

John tensed for a moment, knowing that his was probably the worst possible moment to have this conversation with Sherlock. But there was no way he was going to let another moment pass with Sherlock thinking that he was about to be replaced in his heart.

            “I like her cause she’s like you.” John said softly, reaching out to gently grab Sherlock by the elbow and turn him from the window.

            Sherlock moved with the touch, but turned his gaze toward where Charlotte slept, avoiding looking John in the eyes. “And she was wounded, and female, of course you would…” Sherlock mumbled, his words fast but unsure.

            John was exhausted from the eventful evening, too tired to fight with himself any longer, especially as he saw the slightly wounded expression in Sherlock’s eyes. All of his behavior of the night fell into place, his bickering with Charlotte, the over the top negativity with Mycroft, the pacing, all of it fell into place in Johns head. Sherlock was terrified not just of suddenly having a twin sister, he was upset that she would _replace him._

            As the realization washed over him, something deep inside John broke and like water rushing over a dam, suddenly all the words and actions he’d been holding deep down inside under lock and key flowed out of him. He found himself reaching to take the violin from Sherlock’s hands. He placed it gingerly back in the case before turning to grab one of those pale hands.

            “John?”

            “Come with me, now.”  John commanded, pulling Sherlock away, flicking the lights off as he went, leaving them in darkness as he maneuvered his way back to his flatmate’s bedroom.

            Once inside he shut the door and let his hold on Sherlock’s hand drop.

            “John, I don’t understand why ..” Sherlock began, his voice regaining a bit more of his normal edge, but John interrupted him

            “Shut up Sherlock, for just a moment let me speak.” John’s words sounded harsh, but the slight break in his voice spoke volumes.

            John pinched the bridge of his nose as he gathered his courage, knowing that the words that he longed to say, that had been burning a hole inside him for a long time could possibly blow apart the fragile illusion that they had created here in 221B. But then he heard it, Sherlock let out a small breath in the dark, a breath that hitched slightly in his throat, echoing that lost look he’d seen a moment ago in the man’s eyes. The last gear clicked into place in John’s soul. Sherlock needed to know, John needed him to know. Even it was the wrong time, and it was the worst possible time….but when had things ever been normal or easy for them?

            “Sherlock, when I thought you had died…I came to your grave once and I told you something. I’m going to tell it to you now. I need you to promise that you won’t interrupt.”

            “John you don’t have to,”

            “Promise me.”

            “Fine.” Sherlock huffed slightly, with no real malice behind it. He moved away in the semi darkness to sit upon the edge of his bed, leaving John standing by a window.

            “You told me once that you weren’t a hero.  But let me tell you this, you were the best man that I’ve ever known and no one will ever convince me you told me a lie.” John paused for a moment. “I begged you not to be dead, Sherlock.  I told you that I had been so alone, and that I owed you so much.”

            Sherlock rested his forehead in his hands. “I have apologized for that I thought.”

            “You promised.”

            Sherlock didn’t finish, and John moved from the window drawing courage from deep within him. He stopped in front of his friend and did something he’d been longing to do from the moment Sherlock had returned to him. He reached out and stroked the dark curls lovingly. The soft hair clung to his fingers and he drew strength from the fact that Sherlock didn’t recoil from his touch or push him away. The words came faster now, easier as his heart hammered in his chest.

 

            “What I didn’t tell you was that when you left I was empty again. And it hurt twice as much because before I hadn’t known what I was missing. I’d never known that you could find someone that could fill every crack and gap in your soul and make you whole inside. I just thought that everyone was coping with their own unique wounds from their experience.  But you, god Sherlock you closed every hole I’d carried around inside me. And when you left…when you forced me to watch you _die, I_ was left not with those small holes again, but one giant fucking gash in my chest.”

            Sherlock didn’t speak, but leaned into John’s touch with a low moan.

            “When you came back, it took time but that wound healed.  I know we don’t say these things to each other, but maybe now we should. _Sherlock, you will never be replaced with me_. The girls I dated when I first moved in didn’t move you, even when I dated while you were gone, none of them even held a candle to your light.” John moved his hand to Sherlock’s cheek to tilt the man’s face upward so he could look at him as he finished. Sherlock complied, but his eyes were closed, his whole frame tense as if bracing himself.

            “Look at me.”

            Sherlock complied, sucking in a sharp breath as their eyes met.

            “I know you don’t do sentiment, and I know that I may be nailing my own coffin here Sherlock, but let me tell you this. You are the most brilliant man and the deepest soul I’ve ever known. You are unique to me, Sherlock Holmes. You always will be because my foolish heart has been wrapped up in you since the moment we met, I was just too stupid to realize it. So know this, no one ever can or will replace you with me.” 

            John let out a shuddering sigh as he let his hand drop from Sherlock’s face, waiting for the rebuke he feared, waiting for Sherlock to shove him off, run from him, rattle off some brainy lecture on the dangers of sentiment, or worse of all for Sherlock to say nothing and just stare at him in confusion.

            But none of those things happened, instead John suddenly found himself embraced so tightly he could barely draw in a breath. Sherlock had pulled him suddenly, nearly off his feet toward the bed and wrapped both long arms tightly around his middle, burying his face in the softness of his jumper. His hold was tight and desperate, John could feel those long fingered hands digging into the fabric at his back and he let his hands come back up to cradle the head against him, his hands stroking the soft hair.

            Sherlock was mumbling something, his words muffled by his position and John felt a soft chuckle bubble up through his lungs.  “What was that?”

            Sherlock pulled back a bit so his voice could be heard, though this time the whispered phrase was in french, and John laughed once more. “In English please.”

            “But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To you, I shall be unique in all the world....” Sherlock pulled John down the bed beside him and all but wrapped himself around the smaller man, ducking his face into John’s neck. The words lolled about in John’s mind, settling down into his soul, echoing something he’d heard once before.

            “Le Petit Prince, My French tutor made me read from it so often when I was young. I never quite did understand it.” Sherlock spoke gently, his breath puffing against the sensitive skin along John’s jaw.

            “And now?” John asked, leaning his head against Sherlock’s.

            “I think I am starting to.” Sherlock clutched at John again,  the force becoming too much for John and he moved to lay back on the bed against Sherlock’s pillows, pulling the lanky tall man along with him.

            John closed his eyes, content to just lay there with the warm weight of Sherlock laying across his chest. The detective’s frame relaxed slowly as John stroked his hair, his shoulders, down over his back with gentle touches. John let the emotions that had been so bottled up swirl over him as they lay in silence. He felt so much in that moment, relief, joy, concern, and happiness, all of it bubbled about inside him.

            John listened as Sherlock’s breathing started to even out, all of the tension completely drained from the man now as he cuddled closer to John’s chest. John let his own eyes drift closed, feeling quite at peace despite the eventful evening. Just as he drifted away he heard Sherlock murmur something dreamily.

            “ _Of course, I love you,' the flower said to him. 'If you were not aware of it, it was my fault.”_


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

            John vaguely heard the noise out in the flat as he came to.  A heavy warmth was draped over and around him and his first instinct was not to wake at all, but to snuggle into the warmth and sink back to sleep. But the noise came again, and John shifted slightly to rub at his eyes. The room was still dark and a glance at Sherlock’s nightstand clock told him that it wasn’t yet 5am.  They’d been asleep nearly 4 hours or so. John smiled to himself as he shifted the weight of a sleeping detective off his chest. Sherlock resisted at first, stubborn even in his slumber, but then relented and grudgingly rolled over to bury his face into one of his pillows, mumbling something in French before lapsing back into the deep breath rhythm of his sleep. John listened again as Sherlock quieted and after a moment he heard it again. It was Charlotte.

            Quickly and silently, he crept out of the bedroom, in the hallway her sobs were louder and he quickly advanced into the common room where he’d left her. The only light in the room was the streetlamp that filtered through the window. Charlotte was curled in on herself, much like a child would in slumber. She’d kicked off the blanket at some point and her face was drawn tightly in an expression of pain. John first thought that maybe he ought to rouse Sherlock and demand that she go with them to St Bart’s this instant, his first fear being that her head injury was far worse than he’d initially thought. But then she began to mumble, thrashing her head from side to side lost in a violent dream.

            “Please don’t… It hurts! I don’t know how it works…. I’m telling the truth! Please No! Don’t touch me! It **_hurts!_**!” Her voice was raspy and broken as the cries gained volume.

            _What on earth had this woman lived through?_   John’s blood burned at the thought of whatever harm had been done to her. Sherlock had been concerned about John falling for her, but he was wrong. John wanted to protect her, just as he’d cared to protect Sherlock from the unforgiving public and press after the Reichenbach debacle.  John wondered if it was some kind of genetic reaction he had to, to look after these two.

            “Charlotte. Wake up.” John called gently, not wanting to startle her too much. He knew better than most that being woken from a night terror was dangerous business. He’d nearly clocked Sherlock once by accident when the detective had come in to investigate a particularly loud nightmare of John’s.

            She flung out an arm and John let out a hiss as his eyes caught sight of something. Charlotte had twisted so she was lying on her back and the oversized shirt had ridden up to expose the pale skin of her stomach. He noted that she was a bit too thin, much like her brother tended to be, but beside that his gaze zeroed in on what looked like the end of a scar running down the center of her ribcage.  A thick scar that disappeared upwards under the clothing and John shivered.  He let out a shaky sigh and leaned back on his heels.

            “John?”

            John started as he heard Charlotte’s groggy whisper in the silence. He looked up to see her staring at him with bleary eyes. She glanced down at her exposed skin and shifted to quickly tug the shirt down.

            “I’m sorry …you were having a nightmare.” John murmured, stepping back slightly.

            Charlotte groaned softly and flung her forearm up to cover her eyes. “I was talking wasn’t I?”

            John chuckled at the dramatic motion, it was one that he’d seen many times before, whenever Sherlock was overwhelmed by the boredom he hated so.  He ran a hand over his face and nodded.

            “Yeah, it woke me.”

            Charlotte peeked from under her arm and John met her gaze. She still was slightly fuzzy from waking, but the intensity of her blue gaze pinned him. Her eyes reminded him so much of Sherlock’s in the way that she seemed to be able to see right through to the inner workings of his mind.

            “Can I ask about the scar?” John asked gently, his curiosity eating at him.

            Charlotte slowly lowered her arm away from her face, her eyes dropping from his. “Which one?”

            John shuddered as he remembered the one on her neck as well. It was hidden at the moment by the shirt collar. He recalled seeing Sherlock pointing it out earlier, but it had slipped his mind with all the other information that had come roaring in about her.  He watched now as she reached for the blanket she’d kicked off and pulled it back over herself.

            “How many do you have Charlotte?”

            Charlotte curled tighter under the blanket and John had the urge to just let the subject drop and go back to bed. There would be time for all this later, and he felt guilt at bringing up such a painful topic.

            “Several. And it’s all right. You’re a doctor, and they are pretty hideous looking aren’t they?” Charlotte murmured, turning her head to look back at him.

            John shook his head and found that his legs were beginning to protest the way he was crouching. He moved back to sit in his chair and regard her. “You don’t have to say if you don’t want to.”

            “It’s not that…it’s just a long story John. And I’m sure that I’m going to have to relay it again to Sherlock and….” Charlotte paused and a tiny smirk passed over her features. John ha  to smile at the way she scrunched her nose with the expression. “…to my _brothers_.”

            “I understand. There’ll be time for it later. You should go back to sleep.” John moved to stand and leave the room, his questions could wait. And she was right, Sherlock would be wanting all the answers again in the morning. But as he stood from the chair to leave the room, Charlotte spoke again.

            “It’s not that I don’t trust you.”  Her voice was quiet but clear and he turned to stare at her for a moment. She lay there watching him with a tired smile. “The one on my neck was from when one of them tried to kill me…he was breaking orders by doing so, but I’d been desperate and I’d pushed him too far. His mind was already weak. I should have been more cautious.”

            Her words didn’t quite make sense to him, but he didn’t dare interrupt her. She sat up slowly, letting the blanket fall to her lap. Her eyes had taken on a far off look and John could tell that she was reliving the memory as she spoke. She lifted the hem of the borrowed shirt slightly to reveal the thicker scar he’d seen a bit ago. In the dim light, the dark line glowed against the alabaster color of her stomach. And though she only revealed her midriff John could see that it went further upwards.

            “A Y incision.” Charlotte whispered, and John’s head snapped up in horror.  Charlotte let the fabric drop again and John saw that her eyes were glassy now. His chest constricted as he processed that last revelation.

            “But that’s used for…autopsy.” He whispered.

            Charlotte’s breath hitched slightly. “I told you it was a long story.”

            John didn’t think as he saw the tear drop down her cheek. He simply moved to sit beside her on the couch, his arm around her shoulders. “You don’t have to say anymore right now…not until you’re ready.”

            Charlotte let him embrace her, enjoying the comforting touch for a few moments. She inhaled deeply, regaining her composure. “He’s lucky you know.” She murmured, as she let go and leaned back against the sofa.

            “Pardon?”

            Charlotte let her head fall back against the upholstery, her dark curls falling down her shoulders as she turned her face to look at him again. “To have you, I mean.”

            John was glad for the lack of light in the room, as he felt his ears warm. “I don’t know about that.”

            “I do.” Charlotte murmured, moving to lay back down as she yawned. John caught the hint and stood up so she could recline again. “I’ll tell you everything….I promise.”

            “There’s no hurry. Just rest for now.” John turned to leave, pausing only slightly when he heard Charlotte speak once more, her voice barely above a whisper.

            “As soon as I know it’s safe.”

 

  *************************************************************************************

             

            “Boys!” Mrs. Hudson’s voice in the stairwell pulled John from the comfortable sound sleep he’d been in for the last couple hours and he slowly opened his eyes.

            “Not our housekeeper indeed.” Sherlock’s deep baritone grumbled against his chest and John smiled as he realized that the detective had ended up curled around him once more as they slept. He’d never suspected that Sherlock would be one to cuddle in his sleep, but the evidence was quite clear as Sherlock had all but wrapped around him like some sort of cephalopod.

            John rubbed a hand over his friend’s curls lazily for a moment until they both heard the sound of a bag of groceries hitting the floor of their flat, and Mrs. Hudson’s startled exclamation. “Oh my!”

            “Charlotte, oh no….here let me up. Shove off would you?” John teased, struggling to untangle himself from Sherlock’s long limbs. Sherlock let out a deep groan and John gave a muffled curse as the pale arms tightened around his middle.

            “Come on you great octopus, let go.”

            “Fine.” Sherlock huffed as he came fully awake and realized that it might be for the best to let John go intervene. He grudgingly let John extricate himself.

           

            John quickly stumbled out into the flat to see their startled landlady crouching to pick up the groceries that she’d dropped in the doorway and Charlotte looking rather concerned as she was standing beside the sofa. John could tell from the mess of her hair that she’d been asleep and just as started by Mrs. Hudson as the older woman had been by her presence        

            “It’s all right, both of you.” John began, and Mrs. Hudson snapped her gaze over to him, her expression relaxing almost instantly at the sight of John’s nonchalance to the stranger in their flat.

            John seeing that the older woman was the easier sell, quickly walked over to where Charlotte stood watching Mrs. Hudson with wide eyes. He saw the fearful expression from the night before slipping back over her features and he quickly moved to reassure her.

            “Don’t start all that again this early. This is Mrs. Hudson, our landlady. She lives downstairs.” John explained moving to stand beside Charlotte close enough to nudge her shoulder with his own, hoping that she would come back down from her fright. He chuckled as a random thought of his former therapist came to mind. She’d thought _HE’D_ had trust issues, his were nothing compared to Charlotte’s.

            “I’m sorry dear, I wasn’t expecting to see…it’s just that the boys don’t usually have…”she gestured as she looked for the right term then finally settled on one, “company.”

            John chuckled and moved to take the bag of groceries from her hands, hoping that Charlotte would take the hint and introduce herself. When Charlotte didn’t speak John did for her.

            “Mrs. Hudson this is Charlotte…she arrived last night.” John moved into the kitchen with the groceries and watched as the two women regarded each other, some of the tension slowly ebbing from Charlotte’s frame.

            “Oh, well welcome then dear. You’re a friend of John’s I assume.” Mrs. Hudson flicked her gaze over the clothing that John had loaned Charlotte with a knowing smile.

            John felt heat flush his features and he began to sputter out an answer when a familiar baritone beat him to it. ‘That would be incorrect.”

            “Oh morning, Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson brightened instantly as she turned to see Sherlock lounging against the doorframe in his dressing gown and pajamas. John watched as she regarded him for a moment before looking back at Charlotte. “John was just explaining about your guest. I wasn’t aware…”

            “Well of course not, since I myself wasn’t aware of my sister’s existence until about 6 hours ago.” Sherlock quipped with a bit of a smirk.

            “Sister?!” Mrs. Hudson’s mouth fell open slightly and John had to chuckle, Sherlock had done that deliberately.

            “Indeed. It was a most interesting evening.” Sherlock moved away from the doorway and towards his chair. John put away the food and began to make tea for the lot of them, deciding that he might as well make himself useful.

            He vaguely heard the sound of Sherlock explaining Charlotte’s arrival, what Mycroft had discovered, but then his hand jerked slightly on the kettle as he suddenly heard Sherlock snap a command. “Oh would you please sit down!”

            John turned to see Sherlock glaring at Charlotte, who gave him a nasty look before complying. She’d yet to say a word, but John had a sense that she didn’t often obey commands and that Sherlock would be in for it if he tried much more.

            John continued busying himself in the kitchen and when he returned with the mugs Sherlock was just finishing up his story.

            “So, she may be staying with us for a bit while we sort it all out.”

            “That is, if it’s all right?” John added, as he handed Sherlock’s mug to him.

            Mrs. Hudson sipped the tea that John had handed her and was quiet for a moment as she looked from Charlotte to Sherlock then back again. John watched as she noticed the same similarities between the two that he had the night before. The pieces clicked into place and the older woman turned to smile gently at their guest.

            “Of course, how wonderful that you found each other.”

            “Just lovely.” Sherlock’s voice dripped with sarcasm, but his tone was warm.

            “It will be nice to have another woman around here for a bit.” Mrs. Hudson ignored Sherlock’s comment. “Perhaps you can help keep the human remains out of their fridge.”

            John nearly choked on his tea as Charlotte gaped at her.

“Do you really?” Charlotte asked, her voice a slightly higher pitch in disbelief.

Sherlock grumbled something unintelligible into his mug. John didn’t try to hide the laughter that bubbled up out of him, and it felt rather good despite the death glare that his flat mate turned to give him.        

 

 *************************************************************************************

           

            Mrs. Hudson took to Charlotte’s arrival in 221B almost immediately following Sherlock’s explanation, offering to make breakfast for them, “Just this once of course.”

            Charlotte recruited John to help her lug her forgotten duffel bag up from the entryway and then once she’d rummaged through it for some clean clothes, snuck off to shower.  As she stood under the hot spray she tried to process, letting the hot water and steam lull her into a trance slightly. She closed her eyes and played back the last 12 hours.  Her world had changed, tipped on its axis. She’d been right in fleeing to London, but she never could have predicted the current turn of events. From the moment she fell to the ground…she recalled the light in her brother’s eyes when he’d hovered over her.  After hearing his thoughts she understood now that he craved the puzzle, the mystery, it kept his mind from racing around in a frenzy, gave his subconscious something to chew on and keep it busy so he could focus. She could tell that he was rather a handful to be around with his curt tone and lack of social graces, but it reached out to her in an unspoken way that she somehow understood.

            She’d always been able to read people, hear their reactions and thoughts so she could adjust her behavior accordingly. Sherlock seemed to be able to read people as well, but in such a different way that it caused him to seem callous and cold when in reality he was merely processing so much information that things like manners and niceties were glossed over in the quest to understand.  She’d already gathered from watching him with John that it was not that he didn’t care, for underneath all that bluster beat a heart that cared a great deal. She could feel it in the air between the two men, that Sherlock and John shared such a deep connection that one would sacrifice anything for the other. The feeling both warmed and chilled her. She was glad that her twin was able to find his soulmate and have kept him close…but it also saddened her as she wondered if she would ever feel safe enough or be able to stay put long enough to find someone who cared about her even a fraction as much.

            The water didn’t stay hot for long and Charlotte quickly shook herself from her thoughts and finished her business. She stepped from the shower and attempted to tame her wet hair in front of the mirror, a towel wrapped around her. She hoped that Mycroft would return this morning as he’d promised, she had so many questions for him that were gnawing at her.  She wanted to know about him, about Sherlock, what their childhood had been like, their parents. The thought stilled her for a moment, Mycroft and Sherlock hadn’t mentioned whether their parents were even still alive. What would they think when they saw her? The mother and father who never even knew that she existed? Would they believe? Would they welcome her or accept her at all?

            She closed her eyes for a moment and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. She couldn’t worry about that now, for all she knew she wouldn’t be able to stay here long enough to find out. Despite Mycroft’s promises, and the sense of home in 221B,…if the agents followed her, if they found her. She would have to run again. The ache that flared in her chest at the thought nearly brought tears to her eyes. The last thing she wanted to imagine was to leave the family that she’d just barely come to find.

            She opened her eyes and regarded her reflection once more, wincing slightly as she moved her hair aside to see the deep bruise that had bloomed over her temple. The bump from the night before had gone down considerably, but the violet color was ghoulish and she was for once glad for her wild curls as they hid most of it. She quickly donned the outfit she’d brought in with her, then dug through her bag for her hairdryer. Finally after she was satisfied that she no longer looked like some wild thing she ventured back out in to the common rooms.

            As she moved silently out into the hallway she heard more voices, and she halted. Her brother and his friend apparently were quite popular, with the amount of people coming and going through their home. Charlotte heard the sound of Mycroft and Sherlock bickering again and smiled to herself, but then the other voice chimed in and Charlotte peered around the corner into the main room. Her eyes moved over the crowd now gathered. Sherlock and Mycroft were seated in the armchairs, bantering back and forth while John lounged on the sofa, looking up at another man who stood by the doorway, his long coat somewhat damp from the rain that was still falling outside.

            Charlotte observed quietly before any of them noticed her presence, sweeping her eyes over this new person, wondering who they’d brought over now. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his coat and there was a slight tired slump to his shoulders. His hair was a rather dark shade of silver and was slightly ruffled as if he’d been running his hands through it in frustration.

            His voice broke through the noise then.

            “Any of you going to explain? Mycroft sends me this bloody vague text last night that had me up half the night wondering what sort of trouble you blokes had got yourself into now. I half expected to show up here and find a body!”

            Charlotte smirked at the rough tone of the man’s accent. His voice had a slight gravelly tone that scratched across her senses in a pleasurable way, and his exclamation made her chuckle slightly.

            Charlotte froze as she saw both Sherlock and Mycroft snap their gazes her way.

            “Well Lestrade, you lazy deduction was half correct.”

            “My God, really?” The man’s voice pitched up slightly as he turned to look at Sherlock and Mycroft.

            John chuckled. “A live one Greg, calm down.”

            Mycroft nodded at her with the barest hint of a smile and Charlotte sucked in her breath as she edged out of the hallway and into the room.  She watched warily as the man followed her brother’s looks and turned to face her.  She was surprised that his face showed that he was much younger than the silver hair had led her to assume, and rather attractive.

Dark eyes widened at the sight of her and his mouth dropped open.

“Oh my God…”

 

          


	7. Chapter 7

Greg Lestrade was not surprised to find the lot of them acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary when he arrived. His curiosity had got the better of him after a fitful night’s sleep and he’d decided to drop in on Baker street to see what the trouble was about for himself. What’s he’d found was the familiar scene of John and Sherlock in their flat, with the addition of Mycroft’s presence. To come across Mycroft in their flat wasn’t an everyday occurrence but seeing as he was Sherlock’s brother, it wasn’t that far of a stretch.  The two Holmes men had barely acknowledged his arrival for a moment before they were at each other again, bickering back and forth about something.

He’d turned his questions on John, who lounged on the sofa, flipping through newspapers on the coffee table. It all seemed so damn _ordinary_ that Greg felt his temper rise, feeling perhaps Mycroft had been overreacting about something and hadn’t even had the decency to tell him that whatever it was had already been handled.

He let out a rather loud demand, and was rewarded by a snotty quip from Sherlock. Lestrade had known the man for years and he’d learned that Sherlock’s tone was never a true indication of how he felt toward a person but in that moment Lestrade was tired and not in the mood for games. Maybe it was the poor sleep, the cold flat, the late nights’ he’d been pulling that stole his patience and normal good humor. Or maybe it was that damn ache he’d been carrying around in his chest that had recently seemed so much deeper… but for whatever reason he tensed at Sherlock’s words. Then he realized that Sherlock had agreed with his suggestion of a body… _oh bloody hell._

************************ 

John had quickly interjected with a bit of a smile, trying to diffuse the situation as he always seemed to do. Greg relaxed a bit, but then saw Mycroft and Sherlock both turn to look behind him and a chill ran over him. He had no idea what he expected to see, a thought of that psychopath Moriarity flitted through his mind, that crazy little man who’d wreaked so much havoc, who’d forced Sherlock into faking his own suicide the year before. Greg hated to admit it, but the ghost of that man still haunted him.

But what he saw as he turned knocked him completely. A pair of cautious blue eyes watched him with a piercing gaze, freezing him completely to the spot. He quickly looked to take in the soft black curls that surrounded a pale face with petite but perfectly formed features. He didn’t even feel his jaw drop as he muttered out a shocked but honest plea to no one in particular.

“Greg, this is Charlotte.”

He heard John’s introduction, but didn’t take his gaze away from her, sweeping over the form fitting sweater and jeans that hinted at a slim yet striking figure underneath and Greg felt his heart give a shuddering thump in his chest, as if it was trying to remember how to work again after being so cold and silent.

She moved slowly into the room, her eyes flickering toward John, then Sherlock and Mycroft as she approached. Greg knew he ought to say something, but no words came. Thankfully Sherlock began to ramble instead.

“Perhaps it is good that you barged in after all…maybe we could utilize your authority to help with our current problem.” Sherlock was talking, but Greg still hadn’t moved.

His eyes still hungrily swept over that new face, there was a nagging suspicion that he’d seen her before, something familiar about her features. Sherlock had continued to ramble, but Greg tuned him out effortlessly as he tried to solve the puzzle himself. Something about the curve of her mouth, the shape of her eyes …the color. The pieces clicked in as he gazed at the long dark curls, then back to those light eyes. As it all fell together in his head he watched as a familiar smirk pulled at the corner of her mouth and she nodded, stepping slightly closer.

“You’ve got it now, don’t you?” She said, her voice soft and Greg felt another shivery kick inside his chest at the sound.

There was something almost eerie about the look in her eyes, as if she could see down inside him. It reminded him of the look that _Sherlock_ got when he’d figured something out about a person…and that was the final click in his head.

“Yes, you’ve got it.” She smiled then at him, her eyes sparkling just a tad as she watched him and Lestrade let out a slow breath as his heart kicked him in the ribs once more.

“Anyone would have got it by now if they had half a brain!” Sherlock popped off and finally Lestrade tore his gaze away from the girl to glare at the man.

“Well, why don’t you start explaining then? Cause last time I checked, neither of you blokes have ever mentioned having any family.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes at the outburst and then set his mouth in a line. “Charlotte is in fact our sibling, in fact she is Sherlock’s twin sister. I won’t go into all the particulars again right now, but let’s just say that her existence was something of a secret until recently.”

“That is, until Sherlock all but fell over her on our doorstep last night.” That was John, rejoining the conversation with a chuckle.

Greg was quiet for a moment, wanting to look back at the girl but almost scared to. He’d already gaped at her quite a bit to begin with. “Twins?”

“Well obviously.” Sherlock grumbled.

“Oh obviously is it?” Lestrade popped off glaring over at Sherlock’s annoyed expression. “When you didn’t even know about her until yesterday?”

John snorted but quickly stifled his laughter as Sherlock all but growled in his direction. He wasn’t fooling anyone, as nearly everyone in the room seemed to pay him little heed.

Greg raked his hands through his silver hair, ruffling it further as he moved back toward the sofa where John sat, and as he flopped beside the man he raised his gaze to find her again. She had moved over to lean against the back of the armchair where Mycroft sat, her hand resting against the back. Greg noticed that Mycroft didn’t shy away from where the girl’s fingers barely rested against the shoulder of his suit jacket. He’d never seen the posh man so at ease with someone in his personal space before. His interactions with Mycroft had always been rather vague and brief, and usually just a few random phone calls regarding reports on his brother.

Greg’s gaze shifted down to the trainers she wore, unable to hide the smile that pulled up his mouth for a second. She looked both ravishing and innocent at once, and his heart kicked him once more at the deathly combination.

“If you’re done gawking Lestrade, maybe we should start trying to figure out a few things.” Sherlock quipped, and Greg felt his cheeks flush hot as he looked up to notice the two Holmes men watching him with territorial glances.

“Such as?” He tried to regain his composure and not look at her again.

“Well…there are a whole manner of mysteries that Charlotte has yet to divulge information on. One being why you…” Sherlock turned his interrogation on her. “..are in London, who you claim to be running from, why you refuse to go to any hospital..”

“Sherlock,” John’s warning tone was quiet but hit its intended target as Sherlock trailed off his accusations.

Greg heard the soft sound of a sigh from the girl and looked up to see that she looked down at Mycroft for a moment, the two silently communicating something unknown to the rest of them. After a moment her shoulders sagged slightly and she looked around the room slowly, taking in all of their faces. Greg’s throat tightened as she alighted on him last, that blue gaze freezing him to his spot. His foolish heart seemed to think that she lingered on him longer than the others but he quickly squelched the thought.

“It’s not pretty…and it will involve you.”  Charlotte’s eyes moved away from him to study the floorboards, her voice taking on a broken edge. “Are you sure you want that?”

“I am already aware of much of their theories involving you, if you would like me to begin there.” Mycroft interjected.

“If you like,” she nodded and wrapped her arms around her middle, seemingly glad to not have to be the one telling the story.

Mycroft was quiet for a moment and then began to talk.

 

“The information I finally had gathered stated that you lived with your adoptive parents until the age of 18, when you left for college. You tested highly all through grammar school although…it was when you participated in a study at the university that it was discovered.”

Charlotte’s breath hitched slightly. “Yes, that was when they came the first time.”

“They?” John’s voice this time.

“Agents of a covert government sector in the United states, a private sector that has taken various forms since the days of world war two.  Information on them is hard to come by as most members do not leave the ranks alive, or are deprogrammed upon exiting. They simply refer to themselves as agents, although we were able to discover that one of their earlier names was The Stargate Project. It was begun through research being done at Stanford university in the 1970’s and was thought to be closed in 1995…. although we have discovered that it was mostly just then that the name was dropped and the project took on a different direction, one far more direct and involved than simple tests and theories like before.”

They listened as Mycroft began to rattle off how this group of scientists had begun by studying those who claimed to be clairvoyant or psychic, testing the theory of ‘remote’ readings and such, using silly things like tarot cards and whatnot. He  spoke of how the tests gained attention, and defrauded many claims, the government became more interested when individuals were discovered to have true psychic ability and skills that were far more intriguing and useful than simply predicting the layout of cards on a table.

“So, once the investigation became government funded and went underground, the testing that was done was in hopes of finding individuals who had these skills so they could be taken and studied. The hope at one point was to see if abilities had genetic markers that could be tagged, or possibly transferred. Many of the theories seem to be rather far fetched, but there were a few cases of note that seemed promising.”

Charlotte moved away from Mycroft’s chair back to walk over near the sofa uncomfortably. “I’m assuming you mean like me?”

Mycroft watched her movement with a touch of what looked like sympathy in his eyes. “Yes Charlotte, you were a rather big development for them unfortunately. When you did the sleep study at your college your brain activity unfortunately drew their attention and that was what began their interest in you.”

“Wait a minute now, you’re saying that this group…this project or whatever wanted to study you?” John asked, trying to follow.

Charlotte stopped near the sofa, pausing beside where Greg sat quietly. “That’s what they called it at first…studying.” The word fell from her mouth in a broken tone and Greg couldn’t help but glance up at her. Her eyes had taken on a haunted far off look for a moment and he flexed his hands into fists for a second, wanting suddenly to have a go at whoever had put that look there.

“That is where my information falters unfortunately, there was not much record of you for a year long stretch or so, except that your grades at the university suffered slightly.” Mycroft looked uncomfortable then, fiddling slightly with the cuffs of his shirt.

“That would be because I allowed myself to be misled by the ones who claimed to be ‘studying’ me then. The so-called sleep study nights would leave me in a bit of a fog, overtired and I would have a hard time maintaining focus in my classes during the day. Once I noticed the negative correlation I attempted to stop participating.” Charlotte began to talk, filling in the holes in Mycroft’s knowledge as she walked slowly around the room, her voice clear but strained at once.

“As the end of my freshman year came about, I was done with it and attempted to resign from their study.  It didn’t go as planned.”

“That was when they took you.” Sherlock deduced, watching the different nuances of her posture for clues.

“Yes. That was the first _hospital_ stay.”  Charlotte struggled over the word and turned weary eyes on John then, and fidgeted with the hem of her, hoping that he understood more now.

John grimaced slightly as pieces clicked into place in his head, his expression moving from horror to pained understanding. “Oh Charlotte….oh god.”

“What are you …” Sherlock demanded, rising slowly to stand between the two.

 “Their ‘study’ became ‘tests’….and some were physical in nature.” Charlotte’s voice broke and wavered as she reluctantly looked up to meet Mycrofts’ eyes first then Sherlocks’.

“It was….rather like how one might imagine hell.”

 “I am so sorry.” Mycroft spoke slowly. “If I’d known….”

“You couldn’t have.”

Sherlock moved away then to stand by the window. “You’ve been running ever since.”  

“Yes.”

There was a long moment of quiet then as all of them tried to process the rather disturbing story that had been woven in the flat. It was Greg who broke the quiet with his question.

            “So….this Stargate group…whoever they are, wanted Charlotte because?”

            Mycroft moved uncomfortably before glancing at Charlotte, as if asking permission to divulge what he knew. She looked back wearily for a moment, as she’d never been able to trust anyone before, let alone all 4 of them. But after a moment she appeared to relent.

            “Because of what she can do.”

            “That doesn’t answer the question.” Greg was getting a little annoyed with the vague answers.

            “For once I agree with Lestrade. You’ve alluded to some skill or gift several times since you’ve been here. I guessed at first that maybe it was mental, like my deductions. But you don’t appear to be as observant, What exactly is it that you can do?”

            “It’s easier if I show you I suppose.” Charlotte murmured, scanning her gaze around the room as if deciding on a target.

            Greg watched nervously as those blue eyes finally landed on him and she nodded slightly in decision. Greg found himself suddenly unable to look away and had the sensation of buzzing softly invade his mind. It reminded him a tad of the feeling one got when drinking a few too many pints, but as he watched her face he began to tense up as he realized what she could be doing. All that talk about psychics and clairvoyants….

******************************************************           

 

            Charlotte had always hated having to use her skill in front of an audience, but it seemed to be the only way for them to truly understand. Mycroft had explained a lot of it for her ,but she could tell that they were still confused as to the severity of it. The rarity of her gift and her skill was what made it so dangerous, and as much as she didn’t want to involve them any further, she was tired of running and she wanted more than anything for them to understand.

            She scanned their faces for a moment, trying to decide who best to read quickly, that would have the most value. She alighted on the newest face in the room, drawn to those dark brown eyes that had watched her fairly intently the whole time Mycroft had been talking. She couldn’t quite explain the pull he had on her, but there was something about him that called out and wouldn’t let her go. She decided that he was the one that might be able to understand, and possibly help her convince them.

            She concentrated for a moment as she stared at him, and was suddenly swept up in a rather deep wave of thoughts and emotion. Longing and loneliness loomed up heavy over all of it for a long moment, making it hard for her to read past it. The depth of that feeling connected with her on a primal level. She knew that pain better than anyone. Years of being alone and on the run had left her cold inside as well. She sensed a kindred spirit in him in this if nothing else.  

            She began to look for a piece of info she could pluck from his mind to demonstrate to the others. She saw the memory of his divorce that colored so much of that pain and moved beyond it. She saw images of his friendship with her brother and John, standing over _a corpse_ … _wait….caution tape….the lights of a car….a badge_ ….

 

            Charlotte suddenly stumbled backward as if she’d been slapped.

            “You’re a cop?!”

           


	8. Chapter 8

 

            Greg felt as if he couldn’t breathe as the girl’s eyes stared him down. But after just a moment or two she suddenly moved away, fear painted all over her beautiful face. He moved to stand without thinking, wanting to do something…anything…

            But Sherlock was closer and had anticipated her reaction, moving behind her to grab her in his long arms, pulling her back against his chest to restrain her like one might pull back a child about to get into a playground fight.

            “That’s enough of that!” Sherlock grunted as she struggled. “Calm down!”

            John and Mycroft were both standing now as well, looking confused but also concerned. Charlotte struggled slightly in Sherlock’s hold, but he was clearly stronger and after a moment she stopped trying to break his hold and turned her glare on Mycroft.

            “You promise to help, then turn me over to the police?”

            Mycroft huffed slightly. “Trust issues apparently, no wonder you and John got along so quickly.” John started to protest but Mycroft ignored him, stepping closer to look down into Charlotte’s angered face. “I meant what I said…Detective inspector Lestrade is not going to harm you. You must try and believe what I say.”

            Greg stood stock still trying to process the whole scene. Only one thing rang clear in his mind, she’d somehow deduced his profession and now thought that he was an enemy. Everything inside him screamed in upset as he put it together and he was slightly shocked at the guttural level that his being seemed to react. He wracked his brain for something he could say to fix it.

            Then he had it…whatever she had done to him…the buzzing in his head, however she’d pulled out his profession from his mind. It had to work both ways. Everything Mycroft had said sounded like something out of a bad fiction novel, but Greg suddenly did not care and he marched over to where Sherlock still had his arms tightly held around the womans slim frame. Her blue eyes flashed at him and Greg fought the urge to lose himself  in their color. He leaned in and it seemed as if all motion in the room stopped as he brought his face level with hers for a moment.

            “Mycroft is right, whatever you did just now…do it again.” Greg challenged, meeting her gaze dead on.

            Charlotte furrowed her brow slightly and Greg again felt the buzzing sensation for a second between his ears. He focused on laying his thoughts open, like they talked about on those late night psychic shows he’d caught glimpses of before.  The whole thing was crazy to him, but in that moment it did not matter. All he could think was that the last thing in the world he wanted was to hurt her, if anything his frame was aching to protect her from whoever she was so damn scared of.

            No one spoke as the two faced off for a wordless moment until Charlotte let out a sigh and collapsed backward in Sherlock’s hold, dropping her gaze from Greg’s face.

            “All right….I believe you.” She murmured, then tipped her head backwards to look up at Sherlock. “Could you let go now please?”

            “Only if you promise to try and behave like an adult instead of a feral feline.”  Sherlock’s quip was rude but his mouth pulled up into a slight smile as he released his sister from his hold.

            “You’ve all lost me. What on earth just happened?” John burst out as Charlotte moved toward him to flop rather bonelessly on the sofa, staring out at them in surrender.

            “I can read people if I concentrate on it. Hear their thoughts and feel their emotions sometimes. That’s why the agents wanted me, why they chase me everywhere that I run.  They want to understand how I do it….to replicate it, or transfer it.” She spoke in  a lilting way as she watched all of them slowly drift back toward chairs to listen.

            They assumed it was biological at first, perhaps a chemical difference in my brain that allowed it, or that my anatomy could have been different.  That round of testing resulted in the scar you saw John.” Charlotte ran her hand over her abdomen absently and John’s hissing breath was not lost on the others.

            “They demanded I read agents, strangers, test subjects, they would even bring in prison inmates to see if I could pull confessions from their heads. I fought those the most, as I didnt want those thoughts or images in my head.. but sometimes I complied to get them to let me go outside.” Charlotte rambled as she lost herself in the memory.

            “The last time….” Her fingers moved up flutter over the silver scar that danced across her throat.  “…they had me read one of their newer agents, he was damaged and desperate to prove his loyalty. I had been cooped up too long at that point and I lashed out, I embarrassed him, pulled his darkest secrets from him and spilled them out to the scientists…I laughed in his face as I laid out his every insecurity and fear. I should have been more careful.”  Charlotte’s voice broke.

 

************************

           

            None of them spoke, the silence settling over the room like a thick blanket. Outside the sky was still dark and the wind whipped down the street with a promise of more rain to come. It seemed as if they were all trying to digest and process the turn of events. Even Charlotte was silent, her eyes downcast and her face looking somewhat more piqued than before.

            It wasn’t until Mrs. Hudson called up the stairway to John that anyone moved. At first even John didn’t respond until she called again that there was someone at the door. Finally he shook his head a bit and headed down the stairs. Sherlock stared at Charlotte, his bright eyes scanning her for any hint that she may have been lying or embellishing but he found nothing.          

            John’s voice carried up the stairwell, suddenly louder. “No…we didn’t order anything to be delivered….no, I’m sure. Sherlock…did you order something from _Vatican Cameos?”_

            Sherlock jumped from his chair and immediately moved to stride over to the flat door slamming it shut to cut off John’s voice. He spun on his heel to face the shocked faces of Lestrade, Mycroft and Charlotte.

            “Go now!” He commanded in a growl.

            Charlotte was on her feet before he could finish the second word, and Mycroft rolled his eyes but stood to look out the window, texting something on his phone as he looked down at the street. Once he sent the text his phone immediately began to ring and he answered it, speaking in hushed tones.           

            The sound of John arguing with whoever was downstairs was fainter now through the closed door, but it was clear that whoever was down there was not leaving easily and Charlotte looked to Sherlock for any means of explanation or escape. She narrowed her eyes for a moment as she stared at him, picking up from his thoughts that those two words that John had said the loudest at the end were a code between them from previous cases. A code that meant danger, battle stations….death. Charlotte let her sense drop as he hands began to tremble.

            This was exactly what she had been afraid of, getting penned in, trapped. And now she would bring trouble upon her newfound family and friends as well. Her stomach rolled dangerously and she began to wish she’d never eaten any of the lovely breakfast that Mrs. Hudson had been so kind to offer that morning.

            “Hey…you’ll be okay.” A soft accented voice cut into her terror and she looked up to see that Greg had moved to stand in front of her, his brow furrowed with concern. She met his gaze and saw only compassion in his chocolate brown eyes, eyes that seemed deep enough for her to want to lose herself in them. She recalled what she’d read from him moments ago, the wave of loneliness, the pain of being so alone for so long. And also that he had been her twin’s protector for many years now, keeping him out of too much trouble or danger. She wanted so badly to trust him.

            “Lestrade, take her out through my bedroom window, there is a way down there from my room, I’ve had it ready to go for years in case I needed to get out of here quickly.”

            Mycroft was still on the phone, but perked up as he heard Sherlock’s instructions. He moved the phone away from his ear and nodded at Charlotte and Greg. “Yes, I have agents coming to apprehend whoever the imposter is downstairs and question him. But it might be best for now.” Mycroft muttered something else quickly into the phone, then looked between Greg and Charlotte for a moment, a twitch in his jaw was the only give away to his thoughts as he quickly strode over to the pair.

            Charlotte had gone a sickly shade of pale and her eyes were wide with fear as she stared back at him. He leaned in move a stray curl away from her forehead with a hint of a smile, then turned his attention on Greg. “Take her…I will text you an address shortly. And if anything happens to her Detective Inspector…and I mean a _nything_ ,”

            Greg stopped him. “I get it. Nothing will.  You have my word.”

            Mycroft straightened, hearing the steel determination in Greg’s tone and then put his mobile back on his ear and moved back to the window. Sherlock had moved from the door then and darted to grab Charlotte’s hooded jacket from the rack and tossed it at her. He moved in as he shuffled the pair back toward his bedroom where he’d had an iron ladder installed on the back of Mrs. Hudsons’ building .She’d argued with him a bit about it at the time, but when he’d bribed the contractor to build her some new flower boxes in the back, she’d allowed it.  He yanked his window up and shoved Lestrade toward the open frame, then leaned in close to Charlotte as she jammed her arms in the sleeves of her coat.

            “Go.  We’ll come once Mycroft gets rid of them. Lestrade will keep you safe. He may be a civil servant, but he has practice keeping me from dying, so I’m sure he’ll do the same for you.”  Sherlock smirked then reached around to pull Charlotte’s hood up over her hair.

            Charlotte looked back at Sherlock, the two pairs of like eyes meeting for a moment. Despite the fear, she felt a rush of belonging race through her. She was glad to have found him and gave into an impulse, jumping forward to hug him tightly for a split second. “Thank you.”

  *******************************************

            As fast as she had moved, she then let go and climbed out the window, following Greg down the ladder, leaving Sherlock still standing stock still in the same position.  He watched them go for a moment, then moved over to shut the window and move back into the main room to where Mycroft was still arguing with someone who was monitoring the Baker Street CCTV cameras and relaying information. He looked down through the window as Mycroft’s security detail arrived and took the delivery man rather quickly into a black van that pulled up.

            John had shut the door the moment the suits pulled up and now he crept back into the flat to stand at Sherlock’s other side. “That was pretty fast Mycroft.” He murmured.

            “Yes, well my security team was just around the street, I’d expected Charlotte’s arrival here in London to be noticed fairly quickly. They’ve been rather thorough about her pursuit for over a decade now, there’s no reason they wouldn’t follow her here.”

            John looked around then, noticing the two missing figures. “Where did Greg…and ,”

            “Sent them out the back route.” Sherlock snapped quickly, watching as the van pulled away and Mycroft clicked his mobile back off. “If this one discovered she was here, its best that she not be for a few hours in case they’re watching.”

            “She went with Greg just like that?” John seemed surprised, after all the stranger terror.

            “Yes…I’m gathering that whatever her gift told her about him earlier assured her that he can be trusted with her safety. I’m not particularly surprised. That D.I. has been rather helpful in keeping you out of trouble for some time.”

            “Don’t pretend like you didn’t have a hand in that.” Sherlock’s voice rumbled as they moved away from the window, where the street below already had resumed its regular activity as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

            “I merely requested his silence the first time you were locked up. He was the one who proved himself to be an ally of yours from then on. You would do well to remember that little brother.”

            Sherlock gave Mycroft a confused look. “You don’t do friends and you’re lecturing me?”

            “I said ally, not friend.”

            “Semantics Mycroft.”

            “All the same, those who prove themselves trustworthy ought to have it remembered.” Mycroft turned his eyes on John for a moment, and then looked purposefully back toward Sherlock.

            “Caring may not be an advantage, but it does incite rather strong bonds that can be called upon.”

            Sherlock for once had no reply as his brother swept toward the door of the flat.

            “I’ll text you an address in a little over an hour. Good day.”

            And with that Mycroft was gone, leaving John and Sherlock alone.

 

 ******************************************* 

 

            Charlotte tried to focus as she jumped down from the last rung of the ladder. She pulled her hood further down as she glanced around the empty garden. Beside her Gregory had pulled a gun from under his trench coat and leaned against the wall, assessing the situation. She glanced at him, wondering why he’d come to her aid and designated himself her protector so quickly. He’d seemed unnerved by her skill, but not put off or horrified by it and now he had volunteered to help her run without a second thought. It confused her on several levels.

            “Come on, doesn’t look like there where more of them coming but we’ll take the alley around and catch a cab anyway.” Greg instructed, leading her out of the garden and out into a back alley. Charlotte followed behind him, but tripped suddenly over some stray trash.

            Greg caught her arm before she hit the ground and hauled her back up quickly.

            “Easy there love.”

            Charlotte shivered at the endearment from the gravelly voice. His accent rubbed over her senses in a way that she hadn’t experienced in years. She tried to remind her self that he was a cop, a Detective in fact and that in her history cops were the enemy. Police always were convinced to turn her back over. But as Greg helped her regain her footing and slid his grip down to grasp her hand instead, those thoughts were burned away by the heat of his touch.

            “This way.” He turned to look at her for a second, his expression unreadable, then his fingers tightened over hers and he began to tug her back up the alley to where it opened out onto another street.

 

 *******************************************

            Mycroft slid into the backseat of his hired car and nodded toward his assistant who immediately stopped fiddling with her phone to give him her full attention.

            “Orders sir?”

            “Yes, we will need to have the man that was just apprehended placed into secretive custody and thoroughly interrogated. I need to know exactly how he discovered her whereabouts, what he hoped to gain by trying to gain access into 221B and the names of any individuals involved with his organization and how to find them.”

            Anthea nodded, the only sign of her surprised being a slight widening of her eyes.

            “I will also need a safe house prepped and prepared, staffed with security and technology sufficient for my brother to do some research while he is there.”

            “How many individuals will be staying?”

            Mycroft paused for a moment as he tallied up the count in his head.

            “4 four now, my brother and Dr. Watson, Charlotte , and DI Lestrade.”

            “The DI?” Anthea picked her phone back up.

            “Yes, and let’s see about getting him some paid time off work to assist in this matter. I want to make sure that Scotland Yard isn’t out searching for him. Set up an alibi that he was either called away on case or decided to take a foreign holiday, whatever will arouse the least suspicion.”

            “Is the DI aware that he will be away from work?” Anthea began clicking out Mycroft’s instructions as fast as she could.

            “No, but something tells me he will have no objections.”

 

            Mycroft looked out the window as the car pulled away. He played back the interaction between Charlotte and Gregory Lestrade in his mind. From the moment the gray haired man had laid eyes on her Mycroft had noticed that his assistance would need no ordering or cajoling. The recently divorced DI had stared at her nearly the entire time, and after Charlotte had demonstrated her skills on him he had neither shied away nor been repulsed. Mycroft kept his head turned to hide his smile.

Gregory looked at Charlotte the way John looked at Sherlock.

 


	9. Stolen Moments

 

The flat seemed eerily quiet after all the activity and John moved about restlessly. Sherlock sat in his chair; hands folded in his favored pose for thinking, and did not speak. John paid him no mind instead busied himself cleaning the kitchen and washing all the leftover dishes from that morning. His mind buzzed with concern and he felt frustrated and useless, a sensation which he truly hated. He tried to funnel his energy into the cleaning, scrubbing at the countertops. He was just about to roll up his sleeves and tackle the fridge when he felt a gentle touch between his shoulder blades.

“Enough.” Sherlock’s voice was low; as he flattened his palm against John’s back gingerly as if afraid the other man would pull away. “Mycroft will be in touch once he gets things set up and then we will go.” Sherlock rubbed his hand over the taut muscles of John’s back, carefully at first then with more pressure when John hummed happily and leaned into the touch.

“That feels nice.” John murmured, dropping the rag back into the sink. He closed his eyes, enjoying the casual touch far more than he cared to admit. 

“You like being touched.” Sherlock mused, bringing his other hand up to join in as he rubbed the tension from the other man’s shoulders.

“When it’s you.” John said quietly. Both of them were lost in the wonder of the moment for a bit. They’d danced around this thing between them so long, that even after the revelations of the night before, this kind of closeness was still that little bit awkward to fully embrace.

Sherlock’s talented fingers pushed into a knot in the muscle, rubbing it away and John let out a delighted moan at the sensation. He let his head loll forward, dropping to his chest. “That’s good.”

Sherlock hummed in satisfaction and rubbed at John’s shoulders for another moment before gingerly sliding his arms around the other man, pulling him back so they were pressed together. His touch was tentative at first as his arms wound around John and he rested his cheek against John’s hair. But when John came willingly, relaxing against him with a purr Sherlock let the tension flow out. He liked being able to touch and hold onto John, loved knowing the other man welcomed it. A deep secret of Sherlock’s had been that while he pretended to abhor sentiment and intimacy, he desperately craved that closeness, but only ever with John.

“John? Is this…is this all right?” Sherlock still needed to hear it.

“Yes, better even.” John murmured happily, twisting in Sherlock’s hold until they faced each other. John was still reeling from all the revelations that Charlotte’s arrival had provoked in 221 B. From lost siblings to confessions of love, it was a lot to take in, and now in this moment with it being just them he could feel the weight of what they’d said to each other the night before. He looked up into Sherlock’s face, assessing the slight anxious way Sherlock held his mouth and thought for a moment that he would be happy just spending forever learning all the different little quirks of the man in front of him. One thought chanted louder than all the others _, Mine…mine_.

 

John felt the urge rising in him to seal the pact they’d made in the darkness last night. He backed Sherlock up slowly until the taller man bumped the kitchen table behind him. Sherlock looked down into John’s face with a mixture that fluttered between amusement and innocence.  John dropped his hands to Sherlock’s slim hips and pushed him into a sitting position on the table so that their faces were now closer to being level.

“John?” Sherlock’s opaline eyes watched him intently, his arms still draped around John’s neck.

“Let me…try something?” John whispered, his voice dropping an octave as he stared into Sherlock’s face. For a second John remembered Charlotte and all that had and was still happening, but he pushed it away, wanting to claim this moment for them alone. Timing would never be one of their gifts.

“And that would be?” Sherlock tried to sound superior, but his voice wavered under John’s heated stare.

“Come on now Sherlock, deduce it.” John purred as he leaned forward, gently brushing his mouth over the other man’s. He felt Sherlock shiver in his arms and saw those stormy eyes drift shut and John knew he’d won in this game of hearts and chance. He’d never seen anything more alluring.

John took Sherlock’s mouth in a warm deep kiss, pressing firmly and possessively, swallowing Sherlock’s needy gasp. He took that sound deep inside and felt a ripple of want bloom in his gut, flowing outward. He pulled Sherlock tight against him and heard the faint sound of a moan, not realizing it was coming from himself. Sherlock’s arms tightened around him and the taller man all but melted against the strength of the doctor’s hold. Two pieces of a puzzle they fit together perfectly, mouths moving together in a sliding dance that left them both panting when they pulled away to breathe.

“Good?” John asked with a slight grin.

Sherlock huffed out a wanton noise and leaned in to stare right into John’s eyes.

“I can think of other adjectives, that one hardly covers it.”

John grinned and leaned in to claim Sherlock’s mouth once more.

 

Sherlock’s mobile chimed loudly, and the detective let out a muttered curse as John’s mouth pulled away. He followed it with a soft whine that nearly undid John right then and there. Damn their timing. John kissed him once more, swiping his tongue across Sherlock’s bottom lip, he wanted so much more and he tried to assure himself they’d have time for all of that later.  The phone chimed again and John relented, reaching into Sherlock’s pocket to retrieve it.

 

. He quickly pulled it out and John released Sherlock to read the message with him. It was sparse, like most of Mycroft’s communications; it simply listed an address somewhere that John wasn’t familiar with, and a time a few hours from now. Before either of them could say a word, a second text came in with packing instructions, and a question as to if either of them knew Charlotte’s clothing size.  Sherlock rolled his eyes and shoved the mobile back in his pocket.

 

“We’d better pack and leave now then.” Sherlock raked a hand through his hair and John smiled slightly at the mess he made of it. “My brother has the worst way of ruining anything I enjoy.” He griped.

John laughed gently, reluctantly stepping away from the table so Sherlock could rise and straighten his shirt. “You think he knew?”

Sherlock stopped for a moment considering the horrific notion, then shook his head. “No, he assured me the bugs were removed from our flat some time ago. Plus I hope that he is currently more occupied with Charlotte’s dilemma than my love life.”

John let out another giggle, but followed Sherlock back into the sitting area.

“We have to go now? Is that place that far away?”

Sherlock had already started moving about the room, grabbing things and tossing them into a bag; his laptop, phone chargers. “Not particularly.”

“Then why do we have to go so quickly?”

“Because we’ll need to stop somewhere and do some shopping first…I have a feeling that Charlotte would abhor any kind of clothing that Mycroft would buy for her.”

John just stared for a minute before a chuckle bubbled up through him and ended in a deep throaty laugh that left Sherlock staring at him blankly.

“What was that about?”

            John shook his head and moved forward to help Sherlock pack them up. “It’s just that last night you were doubtful she was related to you at all, and now you’re assuming she’ll have the same kind of relationship with your brother that you do.”

Sherlock frowned slightly. “Not at all, I merely deduced it from her clothing today and the contents of her bag. She wore jeans and sneakers, where as Mycroft no doubt would have her dressed up like some kind of debutante.”

John paused for a moment, staring blankly at Sherlock.  Then another laugh rolled up and out of his chest, so deep that he nearly had to double over. He wasn’t sure which was more humorous, the idea of Sherlock going shopping for clothing for Charlotte or the idea of Mycroft trying to get the young woman into a gown.

 

************************************************** 

Greg shuffled Charlotte into a black cab when they reached the next street and quickly gave an address. Charlotte sat back, her hood still pulled up around her face but Greg could see her reflection in the glass of the window. She stared at the buildings that flew by, her expression downcast.  She had that same otherworldly look to her that Sherlock did; with the pale skin and dark hair, plus the eerie eye color.  But on Charlotte, the combination didn’t put him off so much as it drew him in. He wanted to know all her secrets, to hear and see the thoughts that seemed to terrify her so much. He wanted to know her story so badly.  He figured it would be only fair since she seemed to be able to read his thoughts with only a glance.

“Why are you helping me?” Charlotte spoke softly, not turning away from the window

“Because you need it.” Greg’s answer was simple and true, just not the whole truth. The whole of it was that she had awakened something inside him that he had thought was long dead and gone, hope.

“It could mean trouble for you. The agents that follow me….I’ve seen them do almost anything to serve their purposes. Some of them have been at this for years, they know how to twist screws and go after pressure points.” Charlotte lifted a pale hand to trace the path of a raindrop against the glass.

“I’ve been a cop for over ten years; I think I can defend myself pretty well. Also, I’m not a fan of people who bully others into anything.”

“Still doesn’t explain why you’re helping me, like this I mean. You could have insisted on bringing me into the station or whatever…or going to investigate downstairs yourself when that man was arguing with John.”

Greg stayed silent for a moment, worrying his lip as he tried to summon the words to describe the feeling that roiled about inside him.  It had risen up sharply the moment he’d first clapped eyes on her in the flat. He’d never had such a primal reaction to a woman, any other human being really before. The one exception had perhaps been Sherlock the first time he’d fished him out of a crack den so many years ago. He’s seen something in the belligerent young man that had cried out for understanding and mercy.  He could see that beneath that unkempt surly exterior was something far more interesting and rare than the rest of the junkies they had locked up during that raid. What had cinched it though was when Sherlock (high as he was then) still managed to deduce the failings of half the officers as well as their personal lives. Greg chuckled slightly at the memory.

“What’s funny?” She asked, finally turning to fix him with a quizzical stare.

Greg met her eyes dead on, staring into that changing blue color. “I was just remembering how I met Sherlock actually.” 

“How does that factor in?”

Greg shook his head. “I’m not sure, but I’ve learned from him over the years that the ‘official way’ to do things when it comes to mysteries, murders, criminals and the like…it isn’t always the best way. Sherlock is the greatest detective for a reason; but he’s rash, obnoxious, unorthodox and an all around pain in the arse half the time. He’s brilliant, but most people can’t stand him because he does things every which way except the official one.”

Charlotte listened attentively, not letting her gaze leave his and Greg felt his palms begin to sweat. He knew that he didn’t have the gift for language like Mycroft, or the ability to connect all the pieces like Sherlock, but at least he could be honest.  He tried to find the words but then she turned away before he could. He didn’t miss the somber look on her face as she looked back out toward the glass. He had a thought that the last 24 hours must have been very difficult for her with all the information that had come out. He barely knew half of her story, but being alone and hunted for years then suddenly discovering a family you knew nothing about had to be overwhelming.

“How long have they been chasing you?”

“Over a decade. I was in college when it first started.”

“And you’re the same age as Sherlock?” Greg wanted to kick himself for the obvious question as Mycroft had said the word ‘twins’.

She nodded.

The pieces clicked further into place for Greg. Living in a state of fear for that long a period of time had to really do damage to a persons soul. All the years he’d struggled through his sham of a marriage, feeling so damn alone even with someone in the same house had hurt him considerably; he couldn’t imagine trying it for years without anyone, not even friends or coworkers to turn to.

 His heart ached for the girl and suddenly he had an idea. He leaned up and gave the cabbie a different address. As he sat back he saw Charlotte watching him again, those eyes wary.

“Where are we going?”

            ‘Somewhere safe for a bit, until we hear from Mycroft.”

            Charlotte sat back in the seat, flexing her mind a little to make sure that Greg wasn’t lying to her or planning anything she couldn’t agree with. Once she saw his idea she was slightly reluctant, but his motives were nothing other than comfort and protection so she let her skill drop and relaxed against the seat a bit. She watched him for a moment as she looked out his own window, let her eyes wander over the silver hair and tanned complexion. The ripple of attraction fluttered down her spine again and she wondered just what it was about this man that made her body tremble.

 

 

            Greg’s plan it turned out was a simple one, they stopped to pick up some food and then the cabbie deposited them at his flat where he quickly led Charlotte inside, locking the deadbolts behind them. The street seemed normal enough, but Greg was still careful, advising Charlotte to keep her hood over her face until she was safely inside.

            Once inside she removed her jacket and took in the homey surroundings. She could read the story in the sparse furniture and the way the flat was laid it out. This was where he’d come after his divorce to start over, where he didn’t spend much of his time other than sleeping because he didn’t like the emptiness and feeling so alone. It reminded her of how she felt about all the empty hotel rooms she’d tried to call home over the last decade.

            Greg dished up plates and they alighted at the small table in the kitchen, eating in comfortable silence in the way of people who know little about one another. The food was good and Charlotte tried not to worry. She wondered what Sherlock and John were doing, what plans Mycroft was making and after a moment she looked up to see Greg watching her with a small smile.

            “What?”

            “You do the thing when you’re thinking hard, the thing Sherlock does.” Greg grinned before shoveling in another mouthful of food.

            “And what thing would that be?” Charlotte found herself smiling slightly without realizing it. Greg’s easy manner was infectious.

            “That little wrinkle above your nose, between your eyes. Sherlock’s is like a line across here.” Greg gestured then laughed harder. “Come to think of it Mycroft gets one too, but his are more like pockets he gets when he looks down his nose.”

            Charlotte giggled slightly as Greg mimicked both her brother’s expressions. He was right but she had never had anyone point out that she did the same thing.

            “Well I guess that settles it then. No DNA test needed, we’ll just compare face wrinkles.” She joked, eating another bite and listening to Greg’s laughter.

           

            They were both quiet for a moment before Greg spoke again. “It’s just strange to think of them having a sister.  They’re both so standoffish and none domestic that imagining them with family has always been a mite hard to swallow.”

            “I’m sure they have their reasons. Are their….I mean my…well ours…” Charlotte faltered for the right term. “Are our parents still alive? Have they ever said?”

            Greg nodded. “Yes, their mother. She lives outside London; a bit of a train ride I’m told. Sherlock speaks of her once in a while, usually to beg me to occupy him whenever she is in town.”

            “He doesn’t like her?” Charlotte was aware she was prying, but she was so hungry for any information.

            Greg shook his head. “I don’t know if that’s it. I wondered but he doesn’t seem angry or bitter, just uncomfortable. I have a feeling she tries to humanize him a bit more than he prefers.”

            “Oh he’s plenty human underneath all that bluster.” Charlotte mused.

            Greg watched her and realized what she meant. “Oh, of course you could tell that right. Did you do…well. that thing to him also? Like what you did to me?” Greg stumbled over what to call it. All he really knew was that it had felt like she got into his head and connected on some other level. The whole thing made his skin ripple up in gooseflesh just remembering it.

            She nodded. “A bit, the night before. I didn’t know who they were and I was scared. I had to know if I was safe there or not. So many times people are, vulnerable to the kind of methods the agents will use and I needed to know.”

            “I understand.”

            “Really?”

            “Yeah, I can’t imagine being scared like that for so long. Must have been pretty rough.”

            Charlotte nodded.

            Greg hoped she wasn’t listening in to his thoughts in that moment because all he could think was one thing as he watched her.  That he planned on making sure that she didn’t have be so scared anymore, ever again.

 

 


	10. Calm before the Storm

After they finished their food, for lack of a better idea Greg turned on the telly and Charlotte asked to use his computer for a moment. She looked up the cost of another plane ticket, not knowing if she’d need to be leaving England again soon. As much as she wanted to have faith in her newfound family, she also knew exactly what the agents were capable of and what they could promise or coerce people into to get what they wanted. She didn’t want to bring any additional harm or trouble to them, and especially not to Greg who had been so willing to help and so kind.   
Charlotte risked a glance over at the sofa and smiled. Greg had reclined on the sofa, his socked feet propped up on his coffee table, over the scattered newspapers that covered the surface. His head was tipped to one side against the plump cushion and his eyes were closed, his breathing deep and even. 

Charlotte shut down the computer, after clearing the browser history and quietly moved back to the couch and sat down. She reached for the remote and turned to sound of the program down a few notches before turning her gaze back to the sleeping man. His features were peaceful and she flexed her gift a bit, closing her eyes as it slipped into place.  
She saw his dream in her minds eye. A different house with empty rooms. Greg wandered through them forlorn, opening every door. All led to barren spaces and finally she watched as he ambled back to the first room and leaned against a wall. She felt the wave of betrayal and loneliness that emanated off him. Charlotte sucked in a sharp breath as she saw his shoulders shudder slightly, and heard the faint whispering.

“I tried so goddamn hard. I did what I was supposed to do….why?” He murmured the pain in his tone thick and cracked.  
She knew what he meant as it came to her through his thoughts. His wife had been selfish and stupid, entertaining herself with affairs while Gregory had worked tirelessly to achieve what he thought she wanted. He’d become a detective, a life’s dream, and worked hard to be promoted to D.I, hoping that affording the nice home and lifestyle would earn his wife’s happiness and loyalty. But in the end she’d left and he was alone in the empty rooms, the last thing he wanted. 

Charlotte felt a spark deep inside as she opened her eyes, dropping her gift as she looked back at Gregory’s sleeping face. His brow was furrowed now, as it had been in the vision and Charlotte felt the overwhelming urge to wake him, if for no reason other than to bring him out of that painful space. She knew how much that emptiness and loss hurt and it twined around her, drawing them together in a way that she didn’t have the strength to fight. It had been so long since she’d been close to anyone.  
Charlotte scooted closer and reached a hand out to gently touch his face, feeling the shadow of stubble across his jaw. 

“Gregory…” She called softly, and was rewarded by a drowsy deep brown gaze as his lids lifted slowly. He was disoriented for a moment, then closed his eyes once more, but leaned his face into her touch in a needy gesture. It was that small movement that broke her restraint.

Charlotte leaned in to press her lips against his softly. It had been so long since she’d been able to touch and she wanted to steal this moment, unsure if she’d ever have another. Gregory froze for just a second before responding, his mouth gently pressing back in a chaste sweet kiss, the sweetest one Charlotte had ever known. She felt his hand reach up to tangle in her curls, holding her close even as he broke the kiss to rest his forehead against hers.

“You don’t owe me Angel.” He said softly.  
“That’s not why.”  
“Then why?”

“Because I want to.” Charlotte whispered, sliding her hand down to splay over his neck, feeling that his pulse was hammering now, despite the restraint he was trying to show. “Gregory.” She murmured his name, feeling how it tasted on her tongue. His fingers tightened in her hair and he let out a desperate sound that Charlotte felt down in her soul.   
He kissed her again then, wrapping his other arm around her waist to haul her up against his chest. This kiss was different than the first, and Charlotte let herself drown in the sensation. This was want and need mixed with a shade of something she couldn’t name. Gregory tasted like coffee and honey and his mouth moved against hers perfectly, sliding gently until she began to feel warm all over. It had been so long since she’d been touched, been held like this and her head spun, the agents and the danger, all of it forgotten for the moment. 

***************************

John trailed after Sherlock through the department store, giggling here and there when the image of Sherlock shopping became too much to bear. Every little trill of mirth earned him a scathing glare or an eye roll from his partner, but eventually they made it out of the store with a handful of bags, containing clothes that Sherlock deduced that Charlotte might actually wear.

The one item that John had not laughed over had been the scarf. Sherlock had fingered the soft cashmere scarf in a light blue color; it was the same style he always wore with his Belstaff, but lighter. As he watched Sherlock add it to the pile they carried, John couldn’t help but feel a bit of warmth stir inside. The other clothes were a necessity; the scarf was a present, a connection from Sherlock to his twin. 

As they got into the cab and Sherlock gave the rendezvous address that Mycroft had texted, John sighed and learned back against the seat. Sherlock fiddled with his mobile as the cab pulled out and meandered into the afternoon traffic. John closed his eyes for a moment, but then felt the familiar sensation of Sherlock watching him. He opened one eye to see that Sherlock had set his phone down in his lap and was now staring at him with a soft expression.

“What?”  
“I’m trying to work out every possible outcome of Mycroft’s plan.” Sherlock stated simply, his gaze turning back forward.  
“Which I’m sure your brother did as well when he came up with it.” John murmured.  
“Yes, that’s true.”  
“But?” John could hear the hesitation in Sherlock’s voice.  
“But Charlotte is a variable.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“She is the only one who knows exactly what these agents are capable of; she is the one with the experience running from them for all these years. And we didn’t consult her.” Sherlock almost sounded regretful.

John sat up a bit and reached over to gently brush his knuckles across the back of Sherlock’s hand where it rested on the seat.  
“We’ll talk to her when we meet up, if she knows of a hole in Mycroft’s plan, I’m sure she’ll voice it. She seems to have the same lack of filter that you and your brother have.”  
“What does that mean?”

“Nothing bad. I watched her with you in the flat, and even with Mycroft and Greg…she’s not one to back down if she thinks something isn’t right.”  
“She’s a runner.”  
“She’s had to be Sherlock.”  
“I know that.”

They were both quiet for a moment before Sherlock spoke again. “And then there’s Lestrade…that’s a whole other issue.”  
John looked over to see Sherlock’s expression had changed slightly. “What about Greg?”

“He was behaving strangely around Charlotte, that whole encounter in the flat. I’m still trying to dissect it all.”  
“Strange how? He jumped to help her just like he’s always done for you, for all of us.” John countered.  
“Yes, but there is a reason he comes to my aid. My consulting aids him in his work, if not for me he’d never have made Inspector.” Sherlock grumbled.  
“Come off it, Greg’s good at his job. We can’t all be super geniuses like you. Plus he handles all the paperwork and the aftermath after you solve the puzzles, and that is a lot of work.”  
“Paperwork is boring.”  
“Precisely my point and Greg slogs through all of it while you get the glory.”  
“A trivial detail…his behavior was still different with Charlotte. I’ll deduce it eventually, still running it through several filters.” Sherlock glanced out the window at the traffic as the car crossed through another intersection. 

John thought back to the scene in the flat that Sherlock was referring to. Greg had offered to help Charlotte rather quickly, despite the danger and the mystery. Normally Greg didn’t like the undefined things, such as the deducing magic of Sherlock’s. Greg liked it when Sherlock laid it all out, from point to point to how he solved things. But with Charlotte…then John remembered that mind trick she’d done after Mycroft had explained why the agents wanted her. An image of Greg’s face came to mind, right after Charlotte had panicked upon learning that he was a D.I. …John had never seen the man look quite so shaken up.   
John put it all together and huffed out a surprised sigh.  
Sherlock did not miss it. “What?”

“He likes her, Sherlock.”  
“What do you mean?”   
“Greg, that difference in his behavior that you’re trying to deduce? He likes Charlotte.”  
Sherlock muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

“Is that so hard to fathom? You thought I liked her last night?” John reached over to thread his fingers through Sherlock’s slim elegant ones. Sherlock snapped his gaze down to their joined hands, staring intently although he made no move to let go.  
“You told me I was wrong about that.”  
“You were, I belong with you.”

Another moment passed quietly, and Sherlock absently rubbed his thumb across the back of John’s hand in a caring motion. He looked out the window, still not quite sure how to behave in the face of such intimacy.  
“If you’re right…then it could be disastrous if Mycroft’s plan fails.” Sherlock said quietly.  
“How do you mean?”  
“If Lestrade cares for her…..to lose her?” Sherlock’s fingers trembled in John’s hold for a moment. “I’d not wish that on anyone.”  
John knew what Sherlock was getting at. Their years apart had been painful on both sides. He squeezed Sherlock’s fingers tightly for a moment before scooting closer so that they were pressed together from hip to shoulder. Neither said anything for the remainder of the ride, simply took comfort in the others’ nearness.

**********************

 

The sound of Greg’s phone startled them both and Charlotte blushed as she quickly clambered off the man’s lap where she’d currently been wrapped around him for several minutes. She reached to smooth her hair and clothing and risked a glance at Greg, who looked similarly ruffled, his dark silver hair flicking out in spots and his eyes glassy. He reached for his phone and gave it a nasty look as he opened the texts; Charlotte had to cover her mouth to stifle a giggle.

“We’ve got an address…and a time.” Greg murmured as he read the messages, and then moved to stand. “But it’s not close and soon so we should go.” He stopped for a minute and stared at her with a longing look. “I…you…we…um ya, so this…” He started several sentences but was unable to finish any of them. All the things he wanted to say were too much too soon too fast. You’re perfect…. I’ve waited so long for you….We fit together….This is mine. He suddenly remembered her gift and felt his cheeks flush hot, hoping to god she wasn’t listening in.  
Charlotte stood from the couch and crossed to him quickly, a gentle shake of her head calmed his fears. She reached out to trail a hand over the front of his shirt. “We’ll talk later. It’s all fine.”

“Right then. We’d better get moving…your brothers aren’t fans of time wasting.” Greg moved away to find his shoes and jacket, as well as a bag that he tossed a few items into not knowing where they’d be or for how long. Suddenly he realized what he’d just said and looked up to see his own reflection in the bathroom mirror.  
Her brothers. Both Sherlock and Mycroft would no doubt deduce what they’d been doing the moment they saw him. How was he going to explain this to the Holmes brothers? That he’d gone and done the stupidest thing he could possibly have ever conceived. He, Gregory Lestrade, the D.I. of New Scotland yard had gone and fallen completely for their newly discovered sibling.

He stared at his own shocked expression for a moment then shook his head. He’d have to corner John Watson at some point and get some advice, for he was the only man he could think of who’d understand, who loved a Holmes.


	11. Retreat

Charlotte and Greg were the first to reach the designated address, driven by one of Mycroft’s sleek black cars, although this driver was accompanied by another man, with broad shoulders and an even stonier face. They explained that both were trained in security and were under orders from Mr. Mycroft Holmes to serve both as chauffeur and bodyguard until relieved by direct orders.

Charlotte had balked at first when Mycroft had called to tell them about the car, but he assured her that they were in his service and she was welcome to use her gift to gain reassurance. Greg carried his pistol under his trench in a holster as well. The vehicle glided out of the city into the twilight of the countryside. Soon buildings fell away to fields and open spaces. 

By the time the car pulled down a secluded driveway among the grass and trees the sun was on the horizon, casting an eerie gold glow over the front of a manor that made Greg’s jaw fall open. Another car was already parked out front, and a chauffeur was unpacking the trunk. The front door was open but many of the windows were covered from the inside and despite the manicured front grounds the house looked as if it had been uninhabited for some time.

Charlotte slowly followed Greg out of the car and moved to stand beside him, gaping slightly up at the opulent manor.   
“Whose house is this?” She asked, and Greg had to shrug and shake his head.  
“I have no idea.”

It was then that Mycroft appeared in the doorway frame, his ever present umbrella in hand. He was typing something into his blackberry and once finished looked up to motion the escorts to bring in the luggage.   
“It may be best for us to not linger in the front. The property extends several acres in all directions, and my security reports do not show us being followed, but in matters like these, one can never be too careful.” Mycroft directed, beckoning Greg and Charlotte forward.

Charlotte walked slowly up the steps and into the house, following Mycroft into the entryway where he tapped his umbrella against the wood paneled floor. Greg saw the dapper man smile just a bit as he watched Charlotte stare wide eyes at the foyer and staircase in front of them.  
“It’s unlikely you would have any memory of this place my dear.” Mycroft said gently.  
Charlotte reached out to touch the wooden banister post thoughtfully, then glanced sideways at her elder brother. “Have I been here?”  
Mycroft smirked a little more. “You were born here.” 

The sound of another vehicle’s tires on the gravel outside cut through Charlotte’s gasp of awe and Greg turned to see Sherlock and John arriving in another unmarked vehicle. He could hear Sherlock tittering at one of Mycroft’s guards before the man even came into view and chuckled.

“Honestly Mycroft, this was the best you could think of?” Sherlock rumbled as he marched across the doorway to join them, John just a step behind. Greg smiled to see John’s expression of shock and disbelief that matched his own.

“I had short notice and the manor has the benefit of being both isolated and unknown as ours to most of the locals as well as the public.” Mycroft answered without glancing at Sherlock.  
“It still bears our family name on the deed does it not?” Sherlock glanced at Charlotte and nodded. Greg fought back a grin as the action was the most polite that he’d seen the younger man be to a female in ages.  
“It bears mother’s maiden name on all the official documents, it is only a Holmes estate once she passes.”

Charlotte tuned back in then. “Your…I mean…our mother?” Both Holmes brothers turned to look at her, with differing expressions. “I’m sorry…I just…it’s been so long since I’ve thought about family...after meeting you two and then…” Charlotte rambled trying to find a sentence that worked with her thought.

Mycroft understood. “Once your safety is assured and you are no longer under threat, I will introduce you. It will be quite the shock I’m sure, not only for you but for Mummy as well.”  
Sherlock gave a snort at that. “You may lose your position as favorite Mycroft, be careful. Once Victoria discovers the long lost daughter she never knew she had.”

“The perceived favoritism you speak of is only Mummy’s thankfulness that at least one of her sons knows how to behave in society. If you’d only behave once in awhile at her soirees you’d know.”

Sherlock was about to snap back when John placed a hand on his arm, stopping him. “Boys, enough. Mycroft, does your team have some kind of plan as to how to protect   
Charlotte?” 

“My team is currently trying to track down and put surveillance on the operatives that we are aware of following her. I also have a task force in motion to see if she can be wiped from the records of the organization permanently.”  
“How? They’ve chased me for years, they’re not just going to give up.” Charlotte’s hands moved to fidget with the hem of her coat. She felt more than saw Greg step up behind her, offering comfort in his nearness.

“I have many connections Charlotte, you will soon see that I can undo most situations that would cripple lesser men.”  
Sherlock huffed slightly, looking over to lock gazes with Charlotte, a slight smirk on his lips. “Our elder brother here pretends to be a simple elitist with a superiority complex but in truth he is the mind of the British Government.” 

“A minor position Sherlock….how many times do we have to go over this?”  
“As many until you drop the denial of what you actually do Mycroft, I don’t know why you insist on carrying on with the ridiculous fallacy that your position isn’t of the upmost influence. One would think with your pride that you’d be broadcasting it daily.”  
“And by doing so putting myself in danger just for a breath of recognition from a myriad of small minded goldfish?”

******************

Charlotte turned then, tuning out of the men’s argument and drifting back toward the doorway to the parlor. Sheets covered furniture, with a light layer of dust. The house was silent except for the squabbling in the entryway and Charlotte walked with silent steps through the living room and back toward the windows that looked over the back gardens. The grounds were manicured, but it appeared as though the interior of the home had been shut up for a very long time. 

Charlotte stared out the window for a moment and lost herself in the fantasy of what it might have been like if she had grown up in this home with her twin and their older brother. How different would things have been? Perhaps she would never have been discovered by the agency, would never have had to spend half her life on the run, if only.

“You all right?” Greg’s voice came up behind her, gentle and searching. Charlotte glanced over her shoulder to find him approaching slowly. She gave him a small smile and shrugged.  
“I don’t know yet.”  
“This house is something isn’t it?” Greg gestured as he came to stand beside her by the window.

Charlotte nodded. “It’s pretty mind boggling to not only find that you had a family you never knew about…but also…”  
Greg chuckled. “That you’re a Holmes…it’s a whole different species I think.”  
“Are they that bad?” 

Greg shook his head, dropping his arms to his sides. Standing beside her this close, the back of his knuckles brushed against her hip and Charlotte tried to pretend that her whole being didn’t notice.

“I’ve known Sherlock longer, and he can seem pretty impossible but he’s brilliant. His mind works in ways that are almost unnatural and he’s saved so many lives just by solving his puzzles. He drives me crazy at times, but I honestly feel privileged to know him and that he trusts me to an extent.” Greg mused.  
Charlotte stepped closer to Greg to feel his body heat against her own, in a step tucking herself against his side. He moved his arm to fall across her lower back and continued.

“Mycroft I met later on, once I started working with Sherlock. He’s brilliant as well, but a bit more socially adept. I assume his position requires him to assimilate a bit more and be both invisible as well as mannered. Sherlock’s quipped that he has to be as his organization deals directly with the crown at times.”  
Greg’s voice faded and both were quiet for a moment before Charlotte spoke again.

“I’m scared for them, for all of you.”  
“You shouldn’t be.”  
“You all don’t know what the agents….what they’re like. I’ve run from them half my life , they will stop at nothing.” Charlotte’s voice trembled and Greg tightened his hold. “I’ve seen people die Gregory.”

The quiver in her voice as she said his name made Greg pull her into his arms. He placed a kiss against her forehead. “It will be all right.” He murmured gently, and prayed to any deity that would listen that his words would prove to be right.


	12. Homecoming

Mycroft locked himself away in what had once been his father’s study after his lengthy debate with his brother over the perils of his character. He’d had his staff pack his laptop and several files to work on. Originally he hadn’t planned on staying here with the group of them long, but something nagged at him and he found himself wanting to stay. Not that he wanted to socialize …of course not…but more that he’d be of better help if he was to stay near them, near her.

Mycroft looked at the broad old desk and leather chair that the servants had uncovered for him. His computer was already open and running, and his briefcase sat open beside it. He smiled to himself, Anthea’s instructions were nothing if not completely thorough, and even when she herself wasn’t present she did see to it that his preferences were always perfectly saw to.

He looked around the room. The shelves on the walls were all empty now, but he could still close his eyes and remember when they’d been full of books. All of which were packed away in storage, Mycroft hadn’t been able to part with them after their father had passed. His one real love had always been reading. The amount of information never ceased as long as there were still volumes to be read. He’d spent so much time here as a child, usually curled up on the plush armchair, reading one of the many old books. Their father had collected books on everything, even more so when he discovered what voracious readers both his children turned out to be. Topics on the shelves had ranged from anatomy to Greek myth, from Shakespeare’s works to trigonometry. He wondered if Charlotte was a bibliophile as well. What might it have been like if she’d grown up in his home with them?

His phone beeped and prompted him from his reverie.

He carefully removed his suit jacket and hung it over the back of the desk chair before seating himself at his computer and logging on. Perusing his emails he quickly opened the most recent communication from Anthea, who was no doubt still entrenched at his office on the tasks he’d set her on.

Sir-

Communication from Intel states that our operatives are en route to the headquarters of the Project. Information obtained from the agent in custody is being verified and if it proves correct than the eradication of the project should be underway within 72 hours.

We have however discovered a small band of agents here in Britain, that are trying to track their target. We have security posted in the village nearby as well as a revolving detail at Heathrow in case more arrive.

~A.

 

Mycroft sighed softly. He hoped that things would be easily solved, but knew that most likely in matters such as these that it would not be the case. There would be people to answer to, especially if the project eradication involved collateral damages or deaths. He disliked having people killed, it was the worst part of his job….all the wars and such. But sometimes there was no way of getting around it. And as much as he’d never like to admit it…his organization was often put in a position of killing one to save so many others. But in this case he would not be sacrificing his long lost sibling for the sake of an organization that operated with such inhumane pursuits.

************************************************************************************************

 

The afternoon began to wane into evening and the five adults drifted around one another in the manor for a time before settling in. Mycroft remained in the study on his computer for some time, and Sherlock commandeered a space in the dining room with his own computer doing other research. John had kept him company for a bit but then grew restless and made his way out into the gardens where he found Greg sitting on a stone bench by himself. John made his way over and sat down beside the D.I.  
“How you holding up, Greg?”  
The D.I. shrugged his shoulders, staring blankly across the garden. “A bit soon to call it.”

“We always seem to end up in these odd situations with them don’t we?” John kicked at a bit of gravel with his shoe, leaning back on his hands a bit. He was giving Greg an opening.

“Sherlock already knows doesn’t he?” Greg cut right to the heart of it. John glanced at him sideways for a moment then nodded.

Greg sucked in a deep breath. “How soon did he figure it out?”  
“In the cab on the way over…but I was the one who got it first.” John said gently.  
“What?”  
“He knew something was different in the way you were with her, but he was still trying to process it when I had to put it together for him. Brilliant as he can be, when it comes to emotions…his skills don’t quite apply so much.”

Greg chuckled. “Took him forever to notice it between the two of you, didn’t it?”  
John nodded. “That’s new as well. Although we’ve been hedging it for awhile now.”

Greg grinned to himself a bit. “Dimmock’s gonna be pissed.”  
John shot him a quizzical look.

“He bet it would be at least another year.”  
John elbowed Greg hard in the ribs but couldn’t help his own laughter that bubbled up. Everyone had always known about the two of them, even before he himself had been able to face it.

Both men were quiet for a moment before Greg started again.  
“Aren’t you going to talk me out of it?”  
“What?”  
“Tell me it’s completely off for me to fancy her? I’m just a washed up copper, and she’s a ….a…” Greg stumbled for a word to describe Charlotte as he raked a hand through his hair.  
“A Holmes.” John finished, knowing that their name was description enough when it came to this family.  
“Exactly. She’s their sister! Mycroft Holmes baby sister and Sherlock’s bloody twin! They are going to have me banished somewhere I’m sure of it once all the smoke clears.” Greg murmured, wondering exactly what secret circle of hell Mycroft could have reserved for him.

John laughed again gently. “I don’t think Charlotte would allow that. She’s hardly one to be bullied by them. She may be skittish and all that from her past, but she stood up to Sherlock last night only moments after meeting him, and with a concussion.”

“It’s a little bit freaky isn’t it? To think that Sherlock and she…twins? And with that stuff…the thing she can do. Although I shouldn’t be surprised I guess, I never could understand quite how Sherlock’s mind works either.”  
John nodded, his lip pulling up just a bit in one corner as he sighed.

“The thing is about those minds of theirs…it’s what draws you in.” John’s voice was soft and reverent, but it was the truth of it. “It’s fascinating and brilliant, as well as terrifying all at once.”

“You deserve to be happy Greg…as much as anyone.” John glanced at his friend and caught his eye for a moment in seriousness. “And I reckon so does Charlotte.”

The sun was beginning to go down and the wind that whipped in was beginning to chill. John pulled his coat tighter and stood from the bench. He offered Greg a hand to help him up and as they walked back toward the manor he began to chuckle.

“It’s never going to be easy …but at least it’s never boring.”

************************************************************************************************

 

Sherlock looked up from his laptop to find himself alone in the dining room. He vaguely recalled John walking off at some point, though he had no idea how long it had been. He had been researching anything he could find on telepathy and the studies on it, and had become frustrated because nearly everything he came across was either vastly outdated or completely theoretical, and a lot of it dissolved into new age nonsense. He gently closed the computer and stood up from the chair with a sigh.

The house was eerily quiet. He knew that Mycroft was most likely still locked away in the study and that the guards were no doubt in the sitting room where the windows overlooked the drive. He walked into the entryway and toward the back door which was slightly ajar. He saw John sitting out in the garden with Lestrade, the two of them seeming to be in conversation. Sherlock smiled as his eyes fondly swept over John’s figure on the bench, the setting sun lighting his dark blond hair. The memory of their kiss from this morning flashed in his mind and he felt the unfamiliar feeling of his face warming. He remembered how his body had tingled when John had leaned in and breathed against his skin, just before he’d tasted his mouth.

Sherlock allowed himself a second to enjoy the memory before turning away, lest his body betray him further with ideas of all the new pleasures that awaited him now that John was finally his to hold, to touch whenever he liked.

He wandered up the main staircase and into the north wing. The carpets that had once run the hallways had been removed and his shoes made soft clicks against the polished wooden floors. He saw the slightly open door at the end of the hallway and nodded to himself. Of course Charlotte would have found her way there.

Sherlock quietly walked into the room that had once been his nursery. The room had been converted into more of a guest suite, though Victoria had kept the crib for when they entertained guests with small children. Charlotte had pulled the sheet from that one piece of furniture and stood by it, her back to the door.

“You never knew?” Charlotte asked, not turning toward him. Sherlock was surprised at first, but then remembered that of course she’d have heard him coming, or at least sensed his presence.

He stepped up beside her to see her staring down at the empty crib with a blank expression. “No, Mycroft never said anything to me.” Sherlock bit out, still quite irritated that his brother had never shared this with him.

“He was only what…7?”  
“No excuse, he spoke foreign languages and was studying algebra by that age.”  
“Sherlock.” Her voice held both a chide and a chuckle somehow at once.

“Well it’s true.”  
“He saw me for all of a minute.” She murmured.

Sherlock was quiet as he watched his sisters face, deducing what could be going through her mind. “You’re wondering what it would have been like…growing up with us, here.”  
She nodded, then smirked as she glanced at him. “Not the only telepath I see.”  
“It was a deduction, entirely different.”  
“Not entirely.” She countered.

“Excuse me?”  
“I just mean, it’s like the opposite of what I do. You read people from the outside, their mannerisms, expressions, clothing, physical signs. I do the same thing, but from the inside.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to argue but then shut it again. Much as he hated not having the last word, he had to submit that she was correct, and that he didn’t have enough data about her skills to prove her wrong. Instead he changed the subject.

“It was rather dreadful actually.”  
“What was?”  
“Childhood.”

Charlotte laughed, but the sound held a sad undertone. “How so?”  
“Father was away quite a bit, the only time I remember him being home was in the month after his first stroke. I was in Uni by then. It was the second stroke that ended him.”  
“What was he like?”

“Mycroft.”  
Charlotte did giggle at that. “Not really?”

“Actually quite I’m afraid. Rather stuffy and pompous. He was always much too busy with his work and I think he preferred being with the business as opposed to at home with two sons whose intellect surpassed his before they entered secondary school.”

“He wasn’t a genius like you two?”  
Sherlock shook his head. “Our mother is actually the intelligent one out of our parents, although now at her advanced age she chooses to waste it on society functions and vapid company. It’s rather disappointing actually, I’m sure you’ll be as underwhelmed when you meet her….”

“Stop.” She grabbed his arm then, startling him. He glanced down at her to argue but then saw that her posture had gone rigid and her eyes held that wild look he’d seen before. It was a huge leap in deduction to know why.

“They’re coming.”


End file.
